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No. 2. July, 1889. Quarterly. Subscription, Sl.OO per Year. 





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ANTOINETTE; 


OR, 

THE MARL-PIT MYSTERY 


(LA GRANDE MARNifiRE.) 


BY 

GEOEGES OHJSTET, 

>1 

AUTHOR OF “DR. RAMEAU,” “THE IRONMASTER,” 
“THE COUNTESS SARAH,” ETC. 




TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 

REMINGTOY BRAMWELL AND “AL.” 


{ JUI 8,1889 
” 2-/4 65 


COPYRIGHTED, 1889, BY 
THE WAVERLY COMPANY, 

MAIN office: 421 OLIVE STREET, ST. LOUIS. 


BY THE AUTHOR OF “LE HAITRE DE FORGES ” (THE IRONMASTER). 


“OHNET’S MASTERPIECE.” 

DR. RAMEAU. 


“ In Dn. Rameau, Georges Ohnet has given to the world his 
masterpiece.'" — Book Chat. 

iSj truly., a very remarkable story., intense, passionate, 
thoughtful, profound, without one weary page, full of that 
exquisite compassion for human frailty which gives to the touch 
of the romancer the spell of the poet and the magic of divinity.” 
— New York Morning Journal. 

^^Must be ranked among the most powerful novels of the 
day. The dearest sentiments and the strongest feelings have 
play to denote nature and character, and by exquisite art in plot 
and situation are given all their meaning and influence. Georges 
Ohnet was a master without this work, but he is a greater 
master for having written it." — Boston Globe. 


ANTOINETTE ; 

OR, 

THE MARL-PIT MYSTERY. 

(I>A QRA.3SIDE IVlARlSriSRE^ ) 


By GEORGES OHNET, 

AUTHOR OP 

“Dr. Rameau,” “lie Maitre de Forges,” (The Ironmaster). 


Either of above two books can be had from Booksellers and Train 
Agents throughout the United States, or will be sent post-paid by 
the publishers on receipt of 25 cents. 

THE WAVERLY COMPANY, Publishers, 

421 Olive Street, St. Louis. 


ANTOINETTE. 

(LA GRANDE MARNIERE.) 


CHAPTER I. 

Upon one of those low-lying lanes of Kormandy that 
wind along the embankments planted with the huge trees 
that hem in the farms with a verdant rampart, impenetrable 
by the wind and sun alike, a horsewoman, mounted upon 
an ordinary looking mare, was leisurely riding one bright 
summer morning. The reins lay abandoned, and the 
dreamy rider was inhaling the tepid air embalmed with 
the clover in bloom. She presented a commanding figure 
in her black felt hat with its flowing white gauze veil and 
her long habit of iron-gray cloth. One might have mis- 
taken her for one of those courageous dames, who, in the 
time of Stofflet and Cathelineau, hardily followed the 
Royalist army in the trials of La Bocage, and illumined 
the gloomy Yendeenne epoch with their smiles. She 
gracefully allowed her lithe, elegant figure to adapt itself 
to the movement of her mount, absent-mindedly tapping 
the green stalks of the hedges with her whip. A Scot- 
tish greyhound accompanied her, regulating his supple 
stride to the wearied pace of the horse and lifting towards 
his mistress, from time to time, his pointed head, from 
which two black eyes shone under the bristling brows. 

The short, thick grass that sprouted under the sombre 
vault of the beech-trees, spread out before the rider a 
carpet soft as velvety the dull cows in the pastures were 
stretching their noses^ tormented by the flies, towards the 
freshness of the road. Not a breath of air stirred the 
leaves; the heated air radiated upwards under the rays 
of the sun and a heavy torpor hung over the earth. 
With her head bent upon her bosom, the fair rider pro- 
ceeded on, absorbed, indifferent to the charm of the road 
so pregnant with shadow and silence. 

Suddenly her steed started, sharpened its ears, all but 
reared upon its haunches, and neighed loudly, while the 
greyhound leaped to the fore with furious barks, and 
exhibited to a man who had just leaped iilto the lane, a 
double row of sharp, gnashing teeth. 


4 


ANTOINETTE. 


The equestrienne, thus rudely snatched from her reverie, 
gathered up the reins, got the animal under control, and 
settling herself securely in the saddle, addressed to the 
author of all this trouble a look that bore more of aston- 
ishment than displeasure. 

I must beg your pardon, madam,^' he said in a round, 
full voice. I very stupidly thrust myself across your 
path. I did not hear you coming. It is more than an 
hour since I have been roaming about these pastures, 
without being able to reach a road. All the gates are 
padlocked and the hedges are too high to clear. I finally 
found this little road hidden beneath the trees, and my 
reaching it has almost caused you a fall.'^ 

The rider smiled slightly, and the noble, delicate feat- 
ures of her face assumed a lovely and charming expression. 

BonH worry about that, sir ; you are not very culpable, 
and I do not fall from a horse so easily as you seem to 
think.^" And as her hound continued to growl menac- 
ingly, she added : Come, Fox ; be quiet.'^ 

The dog returned to her side, and squatting himself 
upon his hind legs, he rubbed his fine nose against his 
mistress’ hand. The latter, all the while caressing the 
hound, was scrutinizing her interlocutor. He was a man 
of about thirty years, tall, with energetic face, set off with 
a thick brown beard. His shaven lip and his tawny com- 
plexion, gave him the appearance of a mariner. He was 
attired in a suit of dark cloth ; he wore a black felt hat 
and carried in his hand an iron-wood stick, better adapted 
for a battle than a promenade. 

You do not live about here ?” she asked. 

I arrived only yesterday,” said the stranger, with- 
out directly replying to the question which had been 
put to him. I was seized with a faney to take a walk 
into the country this morning, and I lost my way. These 
miserable little paths, that seem to' lead to nowhere, form 
an inextricable labyrinth.” 

Where do you wish to go ?” 

^^To La^buville.” 

<^Yery well! You are turning your back to it now. 
If you will follow me for a few minutes, I will set you 
upon a route where you will run no risk of losing your- 

‘‘Most willingly, madam; but I hope you will not 
deviate from your own direction.” 

She shook her head gravely, and said : It is not a 

step out of my way.” 

The stranger made a sign of acquiescence, and, sepa- 


ANTOINETTE. 


5 


rated from the young woman by the greyhound, which 
had not conquered its antipathy, and ambled along growl- 
ing inwardly, he followed the fresh, green opening, with- 
out saying a word, but admiring the radiant beauty of 
his guide. At times, the low branches that hung from the 
trees barred the way, and the rider was obliged to bend 
her head to avoid them, and in this movement, her white 
neck, upon which curled coquettish ringlets, showed 
itself, and her pure profile stood out sharply against 
the dark background of the foliage. She bent over 
gracefully, ^nd drew' "herself up with such elegant and 
simple ease, Wemingly unmindful of the fact that she was 
being admired, and, whether through pride or indiffer- 
ence, taking no further notice of the companion whom 
chance had given her. Her face wore in repose a look of 
melancholy gravity, as if she were living under the in- 
fluence of an habitual sadness. What troubles could this 
young and pretty creature have, created to be waited 
upon, cherished and adored ? Had cruel destiny assigned 
sorrow to her — to her, made for happiness? She was 
apparently rich : her trouble must then be a mental one. 

Arrived at this stage of his reasoning, the stranger 
began to wonder if his companion were married or not. 
Her stately carriage, her rounded figure, the harmonious 
fulness of which was enhanced by the slenderness of her 
waist, belonged to a woman ; but the velvety softness of 
-her cheek, the unsullied candor of her eyes betokened a 
girl. The lobes of her rosy ears were not pierced, 
and she wore no ornament either at her neck or on her 
wrists. 

They had proceeded thus along the lane for about a 
quarter of an hour, when they came to a heath covered 
with gorse in flower, over which fluttered innumerable 
yellow butterflies. On the edge of the common, some 
sheep were browsing on the dry and scanty grass, guarded 
by a black dog which began capering about with short, 
sharp barks of joy when it saw the deerhound. The two 
were doubtless old friends, for they both started off 
together on a head-long gallop, the deerhound, light and 
rapid as an arrow, describing circles around the black 
dog in its speedier flight. But suddenly the horsewoman 
gave a shrill whistle, the hound stopped short, looked for 
a moment at its mistress, and then, accompanied by the 
black dog, obediently returned. 

But where can Eoussot be?’^ murmured the girl. ^‘Are 
his sheep and his dog here by themselves this morning?'^ 

As the words left her lips, a noisy burst of laughter 


6 


ANTOINETTE. 


issued from a small clump of birch-trees, and, on the edge 
of a pool, surrounded by the heaps of linen she was busy 
washing, as she knelt in a three-sided box half filled with 
straw, they saw a pretty girl with whom a red-haired 
youth wearing a gray linen smock-frock and a large straw 
hat, which was slipping down his back, was roughly 
romping. He had caught the girl by the shoulders, and 
holding her down he was tickling her round white neck 
with a stalk of wild grass, while she, vexed and amused 
at the same time, struggled and screamed amidst a ner- 
vous laugh. 

Will you have done, you bad Eoussot! You wait! 
Pll pay you in a minute with my linen beater! ” 

But the shepherd did not leave oif ; on the contrary, he 
pressed the girl yet tighter in his sinewy and extraordi- 
narily hairy arms. His cunning eyes gleamed, his lips 
were drawn back in a ferocious laugh, which displayed 
teeth overhanging like those of a wolf, and instead of 
saying anything, he only uttered a sort of savage growl. 
He had forced the laundress quite down amongst the 
rushes, and was now pushing her towards the water. 
She, on her side, was no longer laughing, and was begin- 
ning to feel frightened, but her cries did not have any 
effect upon Eoussot who, still giggling like an idiot, was 
now placing his mouth so roughly on the girFs shoulder 
that it was impossible to say whether he was biting or 
kissing her. 

The horsewoman and her companion paused in amaze- 
ment before this picture. They had both felt the same 
vague trouble as they looked on at the half-violent, half- 
caressing frolics of the two young people. 

That game is beyond a joke, '' said the stranger; and, 
raising his voice : Will you leave off, you vagabond, or 
shall 1 have to come and pull you by the ears ? he 
called. 

At these words the laundress raised herself a little, but 
the shepherd did not seem to hear. The stranger's tem- 
per rose, and he was about to address the lad still more 
roughly, when his companion turned in her saddle, and 
said to him : 

He is half deaf and dumb — an idiot employed out of 
charity. Leave me to deal with him. " 

She leaped the ditch which separated the road from 
the common, reached the edge of the pool, and, touching 
the shepherd with her whip, signed imperiously to him 
to go. Eoussot uttered an inarticulate cry, burst into a 
stupid laugh; then, hurrying away through the gorse and 


ANTOINETTE. 


7 


rushes, rejoined his flock, whistled his dog, and, picking 
up a whip he had left on the ground, began to amuse him- 
self by cracking it with all his might to arouse the echo 
of the hill. 

The laundress had smoothed out her dross, and crim- 
son with the exertion of the struggle, and perhaps also 
with confusion at being thus caught playing with the 
shepherd, hut nevertheless looking charming in her dis- 
order and tempting as a ripe wild strawberry, she rose, 
saying : 

Thank you, mademoiselle. ” 

“ You are wrong to let Eoussot take such liberties with 
you, Eose, said the other. ‘‘You cannot tell what 
thoughts might come into his disordered brain. 

“ Oh, there^s no harm in him, " answered pretty Eose. 
“ Only he likes teasing people, and he came hero to 
plague me. But, bless you, I'm not afraid of him, and I 
should have managed to get rid of him by myself; 
though, thank you, all the same.” 

And laying a vest on the hoard before her, she began 
heating it, and singing in a sweet, clear voice, marking 
the rhythm of her ditty by the dull thud of her heater on 
the wet linen, gay and careless as a skylark, her adven- 
ture already forgotten ; while on the edge of the com- 
mon stood the idiot, clearly outlined against the azure 
sky, cracking his whip and still laughing his malicious 
laugh. 

The horsewoman and her companion went on their 
way. The road skirted a small thick wood, the entrance 
to which was barred by a high white gate, and as they 
reached the edge of the plateau they suddenly saw the 
valley of La Thelle stretched out before them. 

On the height to the right stood a chateau built in the 
Louis XYIII. style and surrounded by a fine park 
extending to the river, which could be seen glistening 
between the willows on its banks as it wound between the 
meadows of emerald green, and which, after passing 
under a picturesque stone bridge, was hidden at last from 
sight by some orchard walls. Sheltered from the north 
winds by the hill, La Neuville basked trim and white in 
the sunlight, the jagged spire of the church and the high 
chimneys of the factories rising proudly above the roofs 
of the houses. A winding road led down to the town, 
passing, on the left, large and lofty clumps of beech-trees, 
whose gray trunks and dark leaves gave a somewhat 
sombre aspect to the landscape; while half-way down the 
hill, a white hillock, which looked like an enormous mole- 


8 


ANTOINETTE, 


hill, stood out against the woods. The country all 
around the town was cultivated, and fields of yellow corn, 
bright green oats and purple clover waved in the breeze 
right up to the first outlying houses. A clear blue sky 
stretched over this exquisite panorama which the sun had 
bathed in a golden fiood, and there was an atmosphere of 
sweet tranquillity about this pleasant place which seemed 
as though it must be the abode of happiness. 

The two spectators of this lovely picture remained lost 
for a moment in speechless contemplation as they gazed 
around them in delight. A slight breeze was blowing up 
from the river, bearing to them the sweet smell of new- 
mown hay, and they lost consciousness of themselves and 
each other under the influence of the infinite calm which 
soothed away all memory of secret care and mental tor- 
ment. 

The stranger was the first to throw off this intoxicating 
torpor. He struck the ground with his foot, like an exile 
who finds himself again upon his native land and about 
to retake possession of it, and with a joyous accent: . 

Ah, I see where I am now,” he said. There is La 
Heuville. That is the Chateau de Clairefont to the right 
there among the trees, and that hillock below, with the 
timber-work on the top, is the Great Marl-Pit.” 

The other made no answer. She was gazing into the 
distance, in the direction of the excrescence which her 
companion had just pointed out, and her face had cloud- 
ed over. She seemed to be anxiously scrutinizing the 
white mound as if its chalky sides enclosed some mysteri- 
ous danger. But what cause of alarm could it harbor? 
There it lay silent, still and deserted, and the lofty beams 
which crowned it rose gaunt and forbidding as the sup- 
ports of a scaffold. The girl heaved a sigh, and, replying 
more to her own thoughts than to the stranger^s observa- 
tion, she repeated in a husky voice : 

Yes, the Great Marl-Pit.” 

Then, shaking her head as though to dissipate her 
anxiety, she added : 

“ This is the road you must take, sir. If you go straight 
down, it will lead you to the town gates.” 

Thank you, mademoiselle,” answered the stranger, 
able at last to admire at his leisure his charming com- 
panion, who was now facing him. 

He walked on a few steps, apparently hesitating about 
something ; then, bowing : 

^‘May I not have the honor of knowing to whom I am 
indebted for so much kindness?” 


ANTOINETTE. 9 

The girl turned her limpid eyes towards him and 
answered simply : 

I am Mademoiselle de Clairefont.^^ 

As he heard this name, the young man invipluntarily 
started, and the blood rose to his averted face. The girl 
stared at him in amazement, then, as if impelled by some 
irresistible influence : 

“ And you, sir,^^ she asked, who are you 1” 

A cloud came over the stranger's features, and for a 
moment he hesitated ; then, raising his head, he answered 
in a low voice : 

am Pascal Carvajan." 

At this answer. Mademoiselle de Clairefont's face as- 
sumed an expression of supreme haughtiness ; her eyes 
became cold and hard, her lips curled in a disdainful 
smile, and with a slash of her whip through the air, as 
though to draw an impassable line between the young 
man and herself, she whistled her dog, put her horse to a 
trot and rode away without once turning her head. 

Her companion stood spell-bound, following her with 
his eyes, and forgetting her disdain to remember nothing 
but her beauty. She was going away proud and con- 
temptuous after passing half an hour of charming semi- 
intimacy with him, and perhaps he would never be able to 
approach her again. He saw the distance between them 
increasing; already the graceful figure was being hid- 
den from him by the dust raised by the horse's hoofs. 
The long gray skirt and the white veil floated in the 
wind ; the deerhound bounded along the lower side of 
the road ; then suddenly at the turn where the gate barred 
the entrance to the wood, rider, dog and all disappeared, 
and the road was left empty. 

For an instant, Pascal Carvajan stood still gazing at 
the spot where he had last seen the group ; then, striking 
the stones with his iron-wood stick : 

What pride I" he muttered. When she heard who I 
was, she did not even bestow on me the glance she might 
cast upon a beggar on the highway. How well she made 
me understand that as far as she was concerned I did not 
exist! Well, fate has willed that we are to be enemies, 
and yet it throws us constantly on each other's path. Be- 
tween Clairefont and Carvajan it is war to the knife. It 
is a pity ! She is very beautiful." 

Then he looked at his watch and found it was only 
eleven o'clock, and slowly he began to descend the hill 
hy a little footpath, bordered on either side with gorse. 
It was a short cut, but half-way down there was a hollow 


10 


ANTOINETTE. 


where the sun beat straight down with nothing to inter- 
cept its rays, and the intense heat, concentrated and 
absorbed as it was by the dry rushes, made a humming 
in the air as at the mouth of a furnace. Pascal looked 
round in search of a shelter. At the edge of a scanty 
clump of birch-trees he saw a red roof, and, hanging 
above the door, the branch of holly which answers as a 
signboard at rustic taverns. He bent his steps towards it, 
and, after crossing a pebbly piece of ground, reached a 
rough road beside which stood a house with walls newly 
plastered and shutters painted a fresh green. The front 
of the house was decorated with a painting of three 
billiard balls arranged in pyramidal form and two crossed 
cues, around which was written in large letters : VinSj 

cafe, liqueurs. Repas de Societes.” On the signboard two 
men were represented seated at a table drinking, while 
a jet of foaming liquor was spurting out of a bottle. 
Beneath, in yellow letters, were the words : ^ Au Ren- 

dezvous des Rons Enfants. Pourtois, dehitanV ” Behind the 
inn there was a little garden with arbors, the centre 
path of which served as a bowling-ground, while at the 
back a swing had been erected. 

It was here that the working population of La Heu- 
ville met to enjoy themselves on summer Sundays. The 
rooms on the first story were kept for the young people 
who danced indefatigably to the music of a violin and 
cornet, while through the open windows the hoarse voice 
of the master of the ceremonies could bo heard crying 
amidst the joyous shouts and laughter : Beady for the 

second figure ! ” and the noise of the heavy boots moving 
in time to the music sounded like thunder over the 
heads of those who were sitting drinking in the rooms 
below. 

Within a few years, Pourtois — who was a big, apo- 
plectic man, stupefied by drink and governed absolutely 
by his wife, a dark, buxom dame, with a quick hand and 
sharp eye — had brought his inn into so good repute that 
the cafe owners in the town complained bitterly of the 
competition. Living outside the gates, he had no duty to 
pay, and thus was able to sell his liquors 'far cheaper 
than could his rivals ; his garden offered the leafy shelter 
of its vine and bind-weed bowers to the thirsty customers, 
and even young men of good society did not disdain a 
quiet lunch at the little inn. 

Every year when the fair was held, Pourtois erected a 
tent capable of holding two or three hundred people in a 
field near his house, and gave a ball, admission to which 


ANTOINETTE. 


11 


was free, but where refreshments consequently commanded 
a good price ; and for the last two years political reasons 
had caused even the corporation of La Neuville to honor 
this suburban reunion with their presence ; for Pourtois, 
who possessed enough influence at election tiniles to make 
him a personage worth conciliating, had set his heart on 
crowning his triumph by this official recognition, and in 
their own interests the representatives of authority had 
thought it wise not to refuse him. 

Moreover, outside his inn he had no ambition. A prop- 
osition had been made to nominate him town councillor, 
but he had declined the honor in words which there could 
be no doubt had been suggested to him by his wife : “ I 

have enough to do to sell my wine,^^ he said, and I have 
no time for speechifying. I will not stand myself, but I 
will help in the election of my friends,^' and he had been 
as good as his word. Thus his inn had become a sort of 
compulsory meeting-place, where many dangerous words 
were uttered and much adulterated wine was drunk. In 
this way, the stout man found himself on the high road to 
making a fortune; but he did not display any the more 
pride for that, and he was never above drinking with any 
carter who might stop at his door for a nip of brandy or 
a pint of beer, especially if his wife was not there to see j 
for he was very submissive to his better half, and ill- 
natured people even said that when Pourtois had tried to 
assert his rights as lord and master soon after he had been 
married, she had given him a sound thrashing. 

Pascal, catching sight of the inn from the top of the 
hill, hurried his steps like a good horse who scents the 
cool water and oats of a halt. He did not recognize 
Pourtois' narrow, low, tumble-down tavern, with its 
moss-grown thatched roof, in thi^ large, spruce house with 
its white walls, green shutters, and red tiles shining in the 
sun. The signboard and the branch of holly — which 
were a little out of place on an inn which could, without 
boasting, style itself a cafe — had alone been left unchanged. 

The hill itself looked different. Formerly the whole 
slope had lain uncultivated, and the common had 
stretched right over the chalky valley to the boundary 
wall of the Clairefont park. Many a time had Pascal 
wandered amidst the gorse below the Great Marl-Pit, 
which had not then been exploited, setting traps to catch 
thrushes; but now everything was so completely changed 
that he could not find one of the traits which had ren- 
dered this country so charming in his memory. He found 
it cut up by roads, sprinkled V7ith houses, open and ac- 


12 


ANTOINETTE. 


cessible to everyone, and all its wildness gone. He felt 
curious to know if the host would be as changed as the 
place, and pushing open the inn-door with its panes of 
frosted glass, he went in. 

The room was cool and shadowy, and for a moment the 
young man^s eyes were unable to* penetrate the obscurity 
after the glare of the sunlight outside. Soon, however, 
they became accustomed to the darkness, and then he saw 
three men sitting at a table, and behind the counter, which 
was very high and large, and covered with bottles neatly 
arranged in rows, a thin, dark woman with a pock-marked 
face, a square jaw, and a full forehead, from which the hair 
was drawn in smooth, flat bands. Two of the three men 
were playing dominoes, and were so intent upon their 
game that they did not hear Pascal come in. The third 
looked up to see if the lady was at her post; then, blow- 
ing a thick cloud of smoke from his pipe, continued to 
watch the game. This man was so big that he looked as 
if he had been inflated, like a gold-beater's skin balloon ; 
his eyes could hardly be seen amidst the folds of flesh, 
and there was not a hair upon his shiny skin. He was 
dressed in gray trousers and sleeved waistcoat, and his 
feet were encased in wool-work slippers, on which was 
depicted a hand of cards spread out like a fan. His size 
at once enabled Pascal to recognize him as the phenome- 
nal Pourtois. 

It's your play, Fleury," he said, in a thin, shrill voice, 
which had a simply stupefying effect, proceeding as it did 
from his vast chest. 

Fleury, who was clerk to the magistrate at La Heu- 
ville, was a man of about forty, and possessed a counte- 
nance of the most unhealthy and repulsive ugliness. His 
lips were generally covered with bleeding ulcers, which 
he dressed with pieces of paper to keep them from the 
contact of the air, and these pimples, with their white 
coverings, made his mouth still more hideous than it nat- 
urally was, and accentuated its crafty and hypocritical 
expression. His gray, glassy eyes showed hardly any of 
the whites, and the balls moved so c'ontinually and so 
quickly that at first they were calculated to inspire a 
stranger with alarm. His ragged hair was full of matted 
tufts, which stuck out in every direction, and gave the 
finishing touch to the horrible expression of his face. He 
was always dressed in black, but at the present moment 
he was in his shirt sleeves and without a tie. 

His adversary was a strongly-built man of fifty, with 
gray hair and a very red face. Small gold rings hung 


ANTOINETTE. 


13 


from the lobes of his ears ; a pair of yellow leather gaiters 
reached to his knees, and he wore a wagoner’s blouse, 
smocked at the chest, neck and wrists, while on a chair 
beside him lay the blue cloth cap with ear-flaps, which he 
wore summer and winter alike. His hands were nearly 
ns thick as they were long, and strong enough to stun an 
ox, and when he laughed it was so violently that his cheeks 
turned scarlet, and he finished half suffocated. He was al- 
ways called Pere Tondeur (i. e. shearer), but whether that 
was his real name or a nickname given him on account of 
the way he generally treated people with whom he had any 
dealings, was uncertain; at any rate, ever since Pascal was 
a child, he had never heard him called otherwise. Pascal 
remembered seeing him often in bygone times at his 
father’s, and when he went away he always used to say : 
^‘Yery well, that’s agreed,” which showed the good un- 
derstanding there was between Carvajan and him. Ton- 
deur was a timber merchant, giving regular employment to 
two hundred wood-cutters in the carrying out of the clearing 
contracts he made with the government and with private 
individuals. 

Pascal had seated himself at a table away from the 
three men. There was a profound silence, broken only 
by the buzzing of the flies which were dancing their 
rounds up near the ceiling in black swarms, and by the 
sharp click of the dominoes on the marble table. From 
time to time Tondeur and Fleury uttered broken phrases, 
and intermixed with the jokes domino players generally 
indulge in. 

All white — proof of innocence.” 

I play the six.” 

Well, I follow with the double six.” 

And domino ! Seven and three — ten, and seven — sev- 
enteen, which added to eighty -three make a hundred. 
P^re Tondeur, you’re done for.” 

Hasn’t he luck, that Fleury ! He!s got mine as well 
as his own.” 

Shall we have one more game ? ” 

“No. I must go up to the clearing to see how my men 
are getting on.” 

“ Oh, stay here. You’ll get a sunstroke if you go out in 
this heat.” 

“ I shall get a domino-stroke if I stay here ! ” 

The three men burst into a loud laugh, and Fleury was 
just beginning to shake up the dominoes again when the 
sound of a carriage stopping before the inn attracted 
everyone’s attention. The huge Pourtois even rose with 


14 


ANTOINETTE. . 


a gesture of curiosity, but there was no need for him to 
disturb himself, for the door flew open before the pres- 
sure of a muscular hand, and a tall young man wearing 
a shooting-suit of maroon velvet and leggings, and look- 
ing somewhat excited, entered abruptly. 

^^You have some people here?^' he said, glancing round 
him. So much the better. Here, Pero Pourtois, just 
go and look in my trap ; you’ll find a dangerous animal 
there belonging to you, which you oughtn’t to let run 
loose in our woods. This time I bring him back to you, 
but next time, as sure as there is a heaven above us. I’ll 
wring his neck ! And I’ve told him so.” 

‘‘What, Monsieur le Comte? What?” asked the as- 
tounded inn-keeper, deferentially removing his cap. “An 
animal belonging to me ? An animal that you’ve told — ” 

“ Oh, go out to the carriage and then you’ll under- 
stand,” interrupted the young man impatiently. 

Light-footed Fleury was already there. As he looked, 
his sardonic face beamed, his little eyes twinkled with 
malicious merriment, his n^outh opened in a burst of 
laughter, showing teeth as dark as cloves ; and clapping 
his hands, he cried : 

“Why, its Chassevent, with his four paws tied and 
looking just like a calf being taken to market! Ah, 
how happy he looks on his straw! Straw’s a capital 
thing to ripen medlars, but it doesn’t make a very com- 
fortable bed for a Christian, does it, old boy ? ” 

A growl like that of a trapped wolf came from the 
light cart, and supporting himself on his elbows and 
knees, a man in a patched blouse and trousers with the 
legs covered with leather, a kerchief tied over his gray 
hair and his feet shod with wagoner’s boots, raised a 
thin face with oblique eyes and a sinister-looking mouth 
above the side of the vehicle. 

“ Do you want to get down, you old rogue ? ” said the 
young count, and picking up his prisoner like a bundle 
of rags he carried him into the inn at arm’s length and 
deposited him howling on one of the tables. 

“ What muscle ! ” cried Pere Tondeur, with immense 
admiration. 

“ But what a sad use to make of it,” put in Fleury, 
whose access of gayety had been calmed by a sudden, re- 
flection. “ Pourtois, got your wife’s scissors and cut these 
cords. Oh, Monsieur Eobert,” he went on, persuasively, 
“is it worthy of a man in your position to treat a fellow 
in such a way ? ” 

Pourtois’ huge hands had already untied Chassevent, 


ANTOINETTE. 


15 


who, finding himself free, sprang to his feet, rubbed his 
shoulders, and catching sight of a full glass eagerly 
emptied it. 

“ It's made the beggar thirsty ! ” said Tondeur. “ But 
what's he been up to. Monsieur le Comte ? " 

^‘He's been setting snares in the Yente aux Sergents. 
It's the tenth time he's done it within a month. J^o one 
could find out who it was, but I suspected it was he, and 
I went round this morning after the keepers had gone 
in and caught my fine fellow in the very act. The snares 
are in my pocket now." 

He drew out a coil of brass wire, and throwing it in 
the face of the poacher, who was very pale and had not 
uttered a word ; 

‘^Here, you scoundrel, here are your instruments of 
labor; but remember what I have told you! Ho more 
procks-verbaux with you. You’ll be sent before the magis- 
trate and you'll get a week in prison, during which you’ll 
be better fed than you are at home, where your daughter 
is obliged to pay even for your tobacco ; so it will be all 
profit. This morning I caught you and tied you up and 
left you at the foot of a tree for three hours, and that is 
all you'll get this time, but if you play your tricks 
again — " 

Chassevent's tanned face gathered up in little wrinkles 
which ran over his skin like the ripples raised on a lake 
by the wind. He did not raise his treacherous eyes, but 
he gave vent to a scoffing whistle which brought the 
blood to the young count’s face. 

Ah, you vagabond 1 " ho exclaimed, and he had already 
raised his powerful hand to strike, when Floury stopped 
him by designating with a glance Pascal sitting in a dark 
corner of the room. 

‘‘ Monsieur Eobert, let me beg of you — before a stran- 
ger too. There, you must take no notice of his bravado. 
Chassevent is very wrong ; his conduct is most reprehen- 
sible, but your method of proceeding is altogether illegal. 
Ho private individual has any right to interfere with the 
liberty of another on his own authority — there are proper 
agents to perform such tasks as those. It is not the mag- 
istrate's clerk who is speaking to you now, it is the man 
who, as you know, is devoted to you although he deplores 
the violence which gives rise to false impressions about 
you." 

‘‘ The wrong I do myself has nothing to do with any- 
one but me," broke in the young man haughtily. The 
gendarmes busy themselves about everything except look- 


16 


ANTOINETTE. 


ing after scoundrels, and as for you, Fleury, you are a 
good fellow, but don't interfere with my affairs." 

You should not refuse the loyal assistance of anyone," 
murmured the clerk, bending his head with an air of sor- 
rowful humility. 

You are not going away without taking some refresh- 
ment, Monsieur Bobert?" exclaimed Pourtois, obsequi- 
ously. What may I offer you ? " 

^‘Nothing, thank you," said the young man, and feeling 
in his waistcoat pocket he threw a piece of money on the 
table saying : 

Here, this is for the- stable-boy who has been holding 
my horse." 

Then leaving the room without adding another word or 
bestowing the slightest farewell nod, he climbed into his 
dog-cart and drove quickly off. 

Chassevent had hardly seen him disappear amidst a 
cloud of dust before he regained the power of speech. 
All the invectives that had been on the tip of his tongue 
for the last few moments now flowed forth in a torrent, 
and he struck the table so violent a blow with his fist that 
the neglected dominoes leapt on the marble. 

Ah, you dog ! " he yelled with rage. Ah, you great 
coward ! I'll serve you out for this ! Just for a few 
wretched hares did he tie me up, as he told you, to a tree ! 
But he took me unawares, you know, for I'm not afraid 
of him ! " 

“ Don't brag," returned Tondeur. He could knock 
you down with one blow." 

What a thing to do ! But next time I'll take my gun, 
and sure as we are standing here. I'll kill him!" 

Come, come, Chassevent, you are not so angry as you 
pretend," interrupted Fleury, “ and you are only talking 
nonsense." 

^^Hever will I forgive him for what he has done to 
me," went on the poacher gloomily. ‘^When it gets 
about, the whole country-side will laugh at me. Oh, 
those Clairefonts I When shall we have done with 
them ? " 

He uttered a horrible oath, and casting a sinister glance 
at Fleury : 

Yes, only let Monsieur Carvajan look after the father. 
I'll answer for the son." 

At the mention of this abominable coupling of his 
father's name with that of this vagabond, Pascal sprang 
iio his feet, and his face crimson with anger : 

I forbid you to utter Monsieur Carvajan's name, you 


ANTOINETTE. 


17 


scoundrel/^ he cried. 

And why, if you please asked Chassevent in a tone 
at once sneering and threatening. 

Because he is my father.^^ 

These words produced an immediate change in the 
attitude of all three men. Pourtois respectfully drew 
forward a chair. Fleury pulled down his greasy coat and 
straightened his crumpled cravat, while Chassevent 
touched the kerchief which served him in place of a hat. 
Pourtois' wife herself deigned to smile over the counter 
between her two white metal cash-boxes. 

Oh, so you are Monsieur Garvajan's son ? " said the 
poacher. That's a different matter altogether ; for, don't 
you see. Monsieur Carvajan is the man for us, and there's 
no fear that we should want to put him out. I have 
never so much as taken a rabbit in his woods at La 
Moncelle, not but what the place is swarming with them. 
Monsieur Carvajan I Why, I'd do anything for him. If 
he wanted my daughter for a servant, ho should have her 
to-morrow, although she is a little proud ; but she has a 
right to be, for she^s pretty enough. I went around can- 
vassing for Monsieur Carvajan at the municipal elections, 
and these gentlemen know how I drank his health the 
day he was made mayor, drank it as it ought to he 
drunk in honor of a friend. Ah, I should think I do like 
Monsieur Carvajan — as much as I hate the people op- 
posite. But he isn't any fonder of them than I am, and 
he'll rid us of them. " 

He shook his fist at the hill on which stood the 
Chateau de Clairefont, half hidden by the trees, and be- 
coming excited again at the memory of his recent 
adventure: 

Ah, you wretch ! To tie me up like a dead crow, 
hung in a field at the end of a stick ! But I'll serve you 
out for it, or may what I am goipg to drink poison me ! " 

And so saying, he emptied at a draught a glass of beer 
that Pourtois had just poured out for Pascal. 

Look here, Chassevent," cried the angry inn-keeper, 

we've had enough of your tales, and we'd much rather 
listen to the gentleman, whom we are very pleased to see 
back here again. I knew you when you were quite a 
child. Monsieur Pascal ; many and many a time have you 
come into my inn when you were out for a walk with 
that dear, good lady, your mother. Oh, it is very differ- 
ent now to what it was then, but you too have changed, 
and here you are grown into a fine young man, you who 
used to be rather lanky — if I may say so without offence." 


18 


ANTOINETTE. 


You do not offend me/^ answered Pascal, whose eyes 
were on the ground as if he were absorbed in thought. 

Yes, all is indeed changed — men and things alike. 

And all will be still more changed before long,” said 
Pleury in hard tones. There is war here between your 
father and the Marquis de Clairefont, Monsieur Carvajan. 
It is thirty years since the hostilities commenced, and 
now they are drawing to an end. The folks up there are 
ruined utterly, and they havenH a ghost of a chance of 
retrieving their fortunes ; for it is your father who has 
them in his power. You have arrived just in time to 
assist at the victory, so let me welcome you. Monsieur 
Pascal. ” 

And the clerk held out a claw-like hand to the young 
man, which the latter no doubt did not see, for he allowed 
it to drop again without taking it. 

Standing upright and motionless he pondered, again 
going over his recent adventure in his mind. He saw a 
beautiful girl on horseback, riding slowly along under the 
cool dome of the trees, accompanied by a large deer- 
hound. A stranger jumped down into the lane before 
her and asked her his way, and gravely and with a 
proud kindness she acted as his guide. As he was leav- 
ing her, he respectfully begged her to tell him her name, 
and it was Mademoiselle de Clairefont, the daughter of 
the man who was always spoken of as his father's enemy. 
Then Pascal fancied that a shadow fell over the girl and 
that he saw her robed in black, with her head bowed be- 
neath the weight of cruel grief and her lovely face drawn 
with anguish. She moved along in silence, her eyes, red 
with weeping, fixed on the ground, and she was all alone 
as if she were forsaken. The green a,nd flowery road had 
lost its summer splendor; the trees, deprived of their 
leaves, trembled, dark and cold, beneath the winter wind, 
and the whole picture was expressive of misfortune. 
How was it she was alone? Where was her father? 
What had become of her brother, the violent and rough 
young man that Pascal had seen but for a moment ? How 
was it that this adorable girl was left in dreary solitude, 
and why was she weeping ? Was old Carvajan the cause 
of this mourning and sorrow as these scoundrels had said ? 

Pascal's heart swelled. Then he anxiously asked him- 
self the reason of this sudden interest in a girl of whose 
very existence he had been unaware the day before. It 
pained him deeply to think that she was going to suffer, 
and suffer through a Carvajan. Would not he, who bore 
the hated name, be also cursed by her? When, under 


ANTOINETTE. 


19 


the impulse of an irresistible sympathy, he would have 
wished to throw himself at her feet, to assure her of his 
devotion and to accomplish superhuman tasks in an en- 
deavor to make himself noticed, he found himself pre- 
destined to be loathed and scorned by her. 

The old Marquis de Clairefont, the athletic and violent 
Eobert, he had forgotten. He thought of her alone as 
the unique incarnation of the family; it washer safety 
alone which was threatened, it was her ruin which was 
being so joyfully anticipated ; she was the victim delivered 
over to these confederates who were gloating over their 
approaching victory and congratulating him, Pascal, who 
already longed to crush them, on his arrival in time to 
assist at the death. 

He raised his head with the feeling that he was being 
stared at, and he found that the eyes of the men around 
him were fixed on him, surprised that during the minutes 
which had followed Fleury^s triumphant words, he should 
have stood mute and abstracted. He passed his hand 
over his forehead, and eager to know more of the plot 
which was being hatched against Clairefont — 

“ I thank you for your welcome,^' Jie said, forcing a 
smile, but let me tell you that I come from a land where 
the interests which are prompting you would seem petty 
in the extreme. I have traveled over the wildest and 
least civilized parts of America, and seen thousands of 
acres serving merely as pasturage to innumerable herds 
guarded by detachments of mounted shepherds; and when 
in a year's time I again passed through the countries that 
I had last seen as wildernesses I have found villages which 
had sprung up as by enchantment. I have ridden over 
mountains where the roadside pebbles were of silver; I 
have passed by lakes of petroleum containing enough oil 
to light the whole of Europe for tefi years without being ex- 
hausted. I have walked over fields where the vegetable 
mould was five yards deep and where the corn grows high 
enough to hide a man standing upright. I have assisted 
at the marvellous and uninterrupted career of a progress 
which was transforming a hemisphere. Then I return 
home after ten years' absence, and here I find you still 
occupied with the same intrigues, stimulated by the same 
hatred, consumed by the same desires. It is easy to see that 
all is definitely ruled, measured and settled in our France 
and that you have plenty of time to waste. I will assist 
at your little amusement since you invite me to do so, but 
I warn you that I am a little hlas6 and I do not promise 
you that I shall take much interest in the spectacle." 


20 


ANTOINETTE. 


And he burst into a laugh which, to Fleuiy’s ear, had a 
false ring in it. The clerk felt a little uneasy, and he 
looked closely at this son who treated with so much scorn a 
matter which held so large a place in his father’s heart. 
He thought it best to disclose the whole scheme to him so 
that he should not regard it as of so little importance. 

^^Here there is no question of petroleum lakes, or 
silver mines, or even of land which needs no manure,’’ 
he said with crabbed sarcasm. We are not in the land 
of marvels, but in France, where money is rarely easily 
gained, and where a really good speculation deserves at- 
tention and time. How, the Great Marl-Pit is in question, 
for this arid hill covered with heath and wild herbs con- 
tains millions beneath its surface. Worked by that wool- 
gatherer, the Marquis de Clairefont, it has been a source 
of ruin — in the hands of your father and those who are 
with him, it would be a source of wealth. The whole 
neighborhood is interested in the estate of Clairefont 
changing bands, and you would not find yourself uncom- 
fortably lodged if you lived in the chateau up there. 
Monsieur Pascal. However dilapidated it may be, it is 
better than the little house in the Hue du Marche.” 

Pascal walked mechanically to the door and opened it, 
and suddenly the Clairefont park sloping upwards on the 
hill-side to the foot of the long terrace which ran along 
the front of the chateau, appeared before his eyes. The 
copses lay still, dark and silent, save for the melancholy 
call of a cuckoo in the distance, and beyond those shady 
trees, behind those walls was the girl he was already 
dreaming of protecting. There was a great distance be- 
tween her and himself — the whole width of this sterile 
valley in which were hidden the treasures of which 
Fleury had spoken. But still more impassable was the 
line drawn by the slender whip which had cut through 
the air with such a whirr when he had uttered his name, 
the dreaded name of Carvajan, which to her startled ears 
sounded like an omen of ruin. 

“A beautiful^ park,” murmured Chassevent’s hoarse 
voice behind him, and a pretty house j my daughter 
works there and she tells me about it.” 

I can see two thousand feet of trees to cut down,” 
added Tondeur, ^^and then there would be no gap.” 

We’ll have a go at them, won’t we, old Crafty ?” said 
the huge Pourtois. They want sleepers for the rail- 
way ; it’ll be just right.” 

And there are twenty acres or so that we shall know 
how to flood and turn into somewery pretty meadows,” 


ANTOINETTE. 


21 


replied the wood merchant. Let’s live in hope ! ” 

Then, twisting the thong of his whip round his wrist: 

Come, we’ve gossiped long enough. Au revoir^ boys. 
Monsieur Oarvajan, your servant.” 

He gripped his friends’ hands, took off his hat to Pas- 
cal and walked heavily off towards the plateau. 

The young man gazed after him, thinking that, as he 
went through the woods and along beside the park, old 
Tondeur might meet, perhaps, the charming rider. Then, 
his ideas taking another course, he thought anxiously of 
how the occupants of Clairefont were living surrounded by 
secret and bitter enemies. Had he not, but a few minutes 
before, heard Fleury speaking familiarly to the young 
count? Was not Pourtois smiling, and obsequious to the 
YOViX\g chatelainf And did not Tondeur, whose business 
brought him into frequent contact with the marquis, wan- 
der over the estate nearly every day, counting the old 
beeches and the great oaks, and calculating in advance his 
share of the common booty? Down to the horrible 
Chassevent, whose daughter worked at the chateau by 
the day, and served as spy to the dark band of whom 
Carvajan was the head. 

Thus, moment by moment as his father’s agents spoke, 
did Pascal see all the springs of the snare come to light. 
He wanted to know all, and happening to look up and 
see Fleury, who was making himself agreeable to the 
silent and meditative Madame Pourtois, he resolved to 
get to the bottom of this warped mind. Drawing a 
silver cigar-case from his pocket, he opened it and held 
it out to the clerk. 

One can see that you have come from America,” said 
the latter, looking at the havanas with slow admiration. 

He chose one, and gnawing off the end, began to blow 
out the smoke in thick clouds. 

you are going to La Heuville, we might go to- 
gether.” . 

With pleasure.” 

o i When they were on the road, Pascal threw one last 
glance at the high terrace where he fancied^he could con- 
fusedly see the elegant figure of a girl walking; then 
familiarly taking Fleury’s arm, he said with the frank- 
ness of a man who feels he can speak in confidence : 

Now we are aloii'fe, tell me about these Clairefonts.” 

Oh, my dear sir, they are sinking deeper and deeper 
every day. At the present moment they have only their 
heads above water, and soon they won’t have even that. 
The marquis is an old fool, who for the last five-and- 


22 


ANTOINETTE. 


twenty years has taken more pains to ruin himself than a 
good many other people take to get rich. As long as he 
did nothing but invent ploughs with double automatic 
shares with which no one could plough, and rotary 
thrashers which threshed the grain into marmalade, it 
didnH so much matter. But one fine day he took it into 
his head to get up chalk by hydraulic power, and then he - 
dug all over his estate, built a factory, and next mortgaged 
his land to meet the expenses of the enterprise. It would 
have been better for him if he had thrown himself down 
the Great Marl-Pit which is a hundred and twenty yards 
deep. The old fellow is about as fit to manage an affair 
of that kind, as I am to set up sticks for peas. It wanted 
some one who knew what he was about to pull it off, and 
it was to the interest of the very one who could have done 
it for the business to go wrong/^ 

Fleury winked his squinting eyes, gave vent to a little 
giggle, then went on: ' 

‘‘ Monsieur Pascal, your father is a man it is useless 
trying to resist, .and I would rather be on bad terms with 
the devil than with him. The marquis knows now what 
he has to expect, and he must bitterly regret the shabby 
trick he played Monsieur Carvajan years ago.” 

Pascal glanced at his companion inquiringly. 

“ Oh, you were not born. It is a very old tale, but 
your father knows how to reckon compound interest, and 
he lets nothing go unpaid.” 

But if the speculation you were speaking of turned 
out so badly, why take so much trouble to get it into his 
own hands?” asked Pascal. 

Because, properly managed, it would be an excellent 
one. The lime from the Great Marl-Pit can bear compari- 
son with the best from Belgium ; it is bet'ter than that 
from Senonches, and the whole hill which reaches from 
Clairefont to Lisors is tremendously rich in it. There 
are millions buried up there and we shall know how to 
get them out. We shall obtain permission to dig the 
commons by paying a^moderate sum, and people will be 
able to get as much chalk as they like for more than a 
hundred years. It means a fortune for all those who be- 
long to the syndicate directed by Monsieur Carvajan~a 
sure and rapidly acquired fortune ! ” 

Fleury's face was beaming, and he stretched out his 
hand as though to grasp the riches the future held. 

It means the ruin of the marquis, ” said Pascal. 

“ Oh, complete, ” replied the clerk eagerly. « He must 
have given up trying to get lime by this time. All his 


ANTOINETTE. 


23 


property is mortgaged, and the mortgage will very short- 
ly be foreclosed by your father, who has advanced large 
sums to him through other people. The marquis is sim- 
ply stripped. He's in a nice scrape, the old aristocrat." 

Then hasn't Monsieur de Clairefont anyone to help 
him with his advice and strength ? " 

Well, it wouldn't be his son, the rough, handsome lad 
you have just seen, who treats men as he does his dogs, 
when they do anything wrong. Where should he find 
sense enough to guide his father when he has not enough 
to govern himself? If it was a question of shooting a 
boar^ of driving a restive horse, or eating or drinking for 
a whole evening, or of making love to a pretty girl, then 
you would always find him ready and able. But do not 
ask him to do any head-work; he could not apply him- 
self to it — he would die of apoplexy if he did not live in 
the open air. And he is the only man there is in the 
house, for I do not count the Baron de Croix-Mesnil who 
only comes every now and then to pay his addresses to 
Mademoiselle Antoinette." 

At these words, Pascal stopped short as if he had seen 
an abyss suddenly open at his feet. A great pallor 
overspread his face, and in a strangely-altered voice he 
stammered : 

Is'he her betrothed ?" 

Yes. He is a nice young fellow, a captain of dragoons 
stationed at Evreux, who has been dancing attendance on 
her for the last two years without getting disheartened, 
but who will certainly slink otf when he sees the plight 
his future father-in-law will be in. " 

Pascal breathed again. A horrible hope came into his 
heart at the thought that Antoinette might be deserted. 
He saw that his interests were the-same as his father's — 
he could expect nothing save by the ruin of the marquis. 
Antoinette dowerless was much nearer to him. Then he 
shuddered as he surprised himself wishing that this dis- 
aster might come to pass. 

^^What a heart I must have!" he said to himself. 

Can I be as detestable as this Fleury, who calmly gives 
me all these details and discounts the misfortunes of this 
family? Am I going to join their abominable syndicate? 
Shall I seek to obtain this lovely girl by infamous means ? " 

He raised his head, stamped his foot on the ground, and, 
his heart swelling,with a bold hope, thus answered the 
question his conscience had juStput to him : 

JSTo. It shall be by my devotion 1" 


24 


ANTOINETTE. 


CHAPTEK IL 

He who had dared to make so bitter an enemy of 
Oarvajan was now an old man with wrinkled brow, hair 
white as snow, bent shoulders and faltering gait. When 
young he had been called handsome Clairefont,” and 
the implacable hatred of which he was the object had 
had its origin in a love scrape. 

When the present marquis was born in 1816, the Ees- 
toration was in the height of its power and ^brilliancy. 
His father, enriched by the fortune of his wife — a pretty 
English woman he had married during his exile — had 
bought back the ancestral chateau and acquired an estate 
which brought him in a hundred and twenty thousand 
livres a years, while the favor with which he was re- 
garded by Louis XYIII. — whose partner he had been at 
whist for over twenty-five years, from Coblentz to Verona, 
and from Hartwell to Paris, following the exiled monarch 
through all his wanderings — had procured him the post 
of Gentleman of the Chamber and the title of Com- 
mandeur de Saint Louis ; in fact, few of the faithful sol- 
diers who had spilt their blood before the Eepublican 
cannon during the Yendeau troubles, received as sub- 
stantial rewards for their heroism as did Monsieur de 
Clairefont for the rubbers he had played. 

When he was thirteen years old. Count Honors lost his 
mother. It was the first real grief of his life and one 
which would probably have left him inconsolable, had 
his father allowed him leisure to indulge it. But the 
marquis did not encourage sorrow which was unpro- 
ductive of any good results, so he induced his heir to dry 
his tears, and, to give him some distraction, obtained his 
admission to the court of Charles X. in the quality of 
page. Honor6 pleased by his graceful vivacity. The 
Duchess de Berry took a liking to him and deigned to 
caress the fair-haired boy, and the son seemed destined 
to the same good fortune as the father. He was, indeed, 
already learning whist, when the Eevolution, which de- 
lights to shufile the cards of men and kings, sent Charles. 
X. post haste to Cherbourg, where he embarked for Eng- 
land. The marquis, whose whole life had been passed in 
exile, did not think it wise to avoid the dull life 
which he knew would be so brilliantly rewarded sooner 
or later, and he, therefore, followed his sovereign to 
Garitz and commenced to initiate his son into the art, 
which he knew so well, of wooing misfortune. 


ANTOINETTE. 


25 


This second emigration, tlie hardships of which were 
greatly mitigated by the enjoyment of a considerable 
fortune, lasted much longer than the marquis had thought 
likely. The younger branch which had been planted on 
the throne took root strongly, and IIonor6 do Clairefont, 
who had gone to the foreign land a boy, grew up there 
and became a man, and as ho grew older, curious dis- 
similarities showed themselves between his character and 
his father's. 

J ust as the companion of the Comte de Provence was 
frivolous, skeptical and overflowing with the somewhat 
vicious wit and graces of the eighteenth century, so was 
the page of the Comte d' Artois generous, enthusiastic 
and a Arm believer in the utilitarian theories of the new 
epoch. His father, who was. ignorant to a truly aristo- 
cratic degree, seeing his son's inclination to studious pur- 
suits, laughed at an application which he thought deplor- 
ably plebeian. 

For what are you preparing yourself, my boy ?" he 
said to Honore. “ Do you wish to be a mechanic or a 
tradesman ? There is but one science that a man of your 
rank ought to be learned in — that of living well, and I 
fear that is the only one of which you know nothing. It 
distresses me to find you have the tastes of a miserable 
tutor, for they will give people a wrong impression about 
you and will hinder your advancement in the world. 
You must have inherited these ideas from your mother's 
side — she had some drapers in her family in the time of 
that rascal Cromwell— for the Clairefonts never studied 
anything, except how to fence and to spend their reve- 
nues royally. Their birth taught them enough about other 
things." 

This sarcasm did not convert Honore, who found relief 
in his studies from the dull life he led at the court of the 
unthroned monarch. He was devoted to physics and 
chemistry. He had made the acquaintance of an exceed- 
ingly learned man, a retired professor of the University 
of Jena, whose liking he had gained by his attentions, 
and with him he passed delightful hours in a study fitted 
up as a laboratory. One morning when a very loud ex- 
plosion had taken place during an experiment, his father 
banteringly asked him what it was he was making with 
so much noise, and as Honore, who stood in great awe of 
the marquis, made n6 answer: 

<<If it is the elixir of long life that my friend the Comte 
de ^t. Germain pretended he possessed, let me have a bot- 
tle of it, for I have not felt well for some time." 


26 


ANTOINETTE. 


The young count, feeling uneasy, spoke to his father's 
doctors, but their care was of no avail, and the marquis 
died, his only disease being that he was eighty-four years 
old. 

Thus Honore was hardly of age when he found himself 
rich, free, and tolerably tired of living in a foreign land. 
Caring very little about sulking in the salons of an exiled 
prince, and scarcely more than a boy, he returned to 
France and hastened to see Clairefont once again. The 
air of his native country threw him into a strange ecstasy, ‘ 
and he felt that he was young and able to enjoy life, which 
was rather a novel sensation for him. The blood coursed 
through his veins at an unwonted rate, he neglected his 
laboratory, and made up his mind to pass the winter in 
Paris. 

The marquis had died a little too soon. If he had seen 
Honors gambling and going to supper parties he would 
have borne away with him the comforting conviction that 
the name of Clairefont had not descended to a scholarly 
pedant. The young man joined the Jockey Club, then 
not long founded, ran his own horses, was well known be- 
hind the scenes at the opera, and, as his income was not 
sufficient for his expenses, cheerfully broke into his capi- 
tal. 

Every summer he passed two or three months at Claire- 
font for the shooting, throwing La Neuville into a state 
of stupefied amazement by the siyle of his carriages and 
the splendor of his receptions. The most extraordinary 
tales were told about the fetes the young lord provided 
for his friends. It was said that eighty bottles of cham- 
pagne had been drunk at one dinner; that women dressed 
like men joined in the shooting parties, and that one of 
them had even lodged some lead in the calves of one of 
the beaters as she was shooting at a deer. The wounded 
man had been recompensed for his pain by a gift of two 
thousand francs — a little fortune ! The peasants were 
deeply impressed, and on shooting days they carefully 
placed themselves in dangerous places in the hopes of 
getting a similar wlydfa!!!. 

Honore was a handsome man, of middle height and 
with fair hair and very soft blue eyes, and when he drove 
through the town in his tilbury, the hoofs of his horses 
making the window-panes rattle again, more than one 
woman came to the window to peep, and many hearts 
beat the quicker for his sake. But what was there to 
hope from an exquisite who was said to have had marvel- 
lous luck in his love affairs at Paris and to bind and hold 


ANTOINETTE. 


27 


with the same flowery chains the most celebrated act- 
resses and the proudest court ladies ? And yet an event 
was about to pass which caused an immense sensation in 
the neighborhood and exercised a tremendous influence 
over the life of the marquis. 

In the Eue du Marche, near the public fountain, the 
continual sprinkling from which had stained the walls 
with a greenish moisture, there stood a low and narrow 
house, with a pointed, slanting gable and sash-windows 
with green glass bulFs-eye panes. Above the door hung 
a black board bearing these words : Gatelier, Dealer 

in Hay, Oats and Fodder.^’ And the little shop on the 
ground-floor was filled with sacks of grain, while in a vast 
case which was fastened to the wall, jars of samples 
hardly ever moved were growing mouldy under the dust. 
But this damp, dull, little house into which the sun never 
shone, seemed a bright and luminous abode to the mar- 
quis, for one market-day when his carriage had come to a 
stand-still through a block in the road, he had cast an ab- 
sent glance at the sombre interior and had been dazzled 
by the sight that met his eyes. Seated at 'the open win- 
dow, her fingers busy with some embroidery, was a young 
girl, fair as one of Eaphaefs Madonnas. Her skin was 
ivory white, her mouth dreamy and tender, her blue eyes 
were fringed with long dark lashes and there was the 
delicate, charming grace about her of a flower which is 
drooping for want of sun and air. 

The carts which had stopped the way had gone on, the 
peasants who were driving their bargains with the aid of 
much shouting and pounding of fists, had gone to a 
neighboring inn ; the road was clear and the marquis^ 
horses were impatiently pawing the ground. Still their 
master stayed with his eyes fixed-on the window which 
served as a frame for a picture of such exquisite beauty, 
forgetting where he was, indifferent to the stare of 
passers-by, disdaining the remarks pf the. middle-class 
townspeople, absorbed in admiration, and ardently long- 
ing to get out of his carrriage to draw near the girl who 
had made so deep an impression on him. The sound of 
a tinkling bell, put in motion by the opening of the shop- 
door, disagreeably aroused him from his ecstasy, and he 
glanced regretfully at the dirty street and the old dark 
house, wondering bj what irony of fate this pearl should 
dwell in such a dust-heap. Then he felt a sort of mag- 
netic attraction— a man had come to the door^ and lean- 
ing against the door-post, was directing^ an irritating 
gaze upon the marquis. Monsieur de Clairefont calmly 


28 


ANTOINETTE. 


examined this impertinent individual from the height of 
his seat. He saw that he was small and thin, with a sly- 
looking face, in which shone two eyes possessed of re- 
markable vivacity. He was dressed like a workman, 
in a waistcoat of gray ratteen and green corduroy trous- 
ers, worn at the knees. As he was still staring at him, 
the girl raised her head and noticed Honore stationed 
before the shop. She blushed, turned away her head, 
put on an air of indifference, and, leaving her seat, moved 
to the obscure end of the shop, where the marquis heard 
her say in a soft, musical voice : 

Finish your accounts, Carvajan, instead of looking 
into the street.^^ 

The clerk shook his head as though to chase away 
some disagreeable thought, turned once more his threat- 
ening face toward the young nobleman, then slowly let 
go of the door, which swung to with a rattle of its panes. 
Honore touched up his horses, and turning to his servant, 
who was sitting on the back seat with folded arms and 
impassive face ; 

Who is that pretty girl?^^ he asked indifferently. 

‘^She is old HatelieFs daughter, sir,^^ answered the 
man. ^^She is well known round here; her name is 
Edile, but she is generally called the belle grainetihre,^* 

Is she bright? '' 

Oh, yes sir. Her father is pretty well off, and if she 
had ambition she could marry at least a bailiff.” 

And who^s that foxydaced fellow at the door ? ” 

“ ThaFs Carvajan, the shopman. He"s a knowii^ lad, 
who keeps the shop going, for old Gatelier spends more 
time at the tavern than he does at his business.” 

Monsieur de Clairefont nodded his head to signify that 
he knew all he wished to learn, and the well-trained 
lackey resumed his solemn silence. 

After that, Honore was continually to be seen passing 
through the Eue du Marche. He invented pretexts for 
going into the town, walking from Clairefont to La Heu- 
ville, where the tradespeople met him meandering along 
with his stick under his arm, lost in thought. His con- 
duct gave rise to endless gossip. What motive could the 
the marquis have in walking through these streets paved 
with stones so rough that they cut the feet, when he had 
the velvety paths of his park ? For whom did he come ? 

Carvajan knew well for whom it was — Carvajan, who, 
from an attic window, watched the young man every time 
he walked through the street. From the very first he 
had instinctively known that Edile was the attraction, and 


ANTOINETTE. 


29 


a sudden, wild hatred had arisen in his heart. He had 
felt that his ambition, which was to succeed his master, 
and his happiness, which would have been to marry this 
charming girl, were being threatened at the same time; 
and that his plans, which he had so carefully elaborated 
for the whole ten years he had been with old Gatelier, 
were being compromised merely through the caprice of 
an aristocrat. 

He would turn pale with rage when he heard the firm 
sharp step of the marquis on the pavement, during the 
hours when everyone else was shut up at home overcome 
by heat. He pondered all sorts of terrible schemes of 
vengeance, and as he leaned out of his garret with his eyes 
fixed on his enemy, he thought of how providentially a 
piece of stone falling from the high gable of the old house 
could put an end to the adventure, and unconsciously he 
dug his fingers into the crevices of the wall. One day a 
fragment of mortar falling on the shoulder of the marquis 
made him look up, and in the shadow of the window he 
distinguished a face with two gleaming, tiger-like eyes. 
Honore realized the danger, and afterwards took care to 
walk on the other side of the way — he had recognized the 
man who had taken up the position of an enemy the first 
day he had seen him. 

The marquis made inquiries and found that Gatelier^s 
clerk was the son of a Spanish non-commissioned officer 
named Juan Carvajal, who had come to France in the 
train of King Joseph in 1813. He had settled in La Heu- 
ville and had gained a scanty living by writing letters, 
etc., for the peasants. Carvajal Juan being contracted into 
Carvajan by colloquial pronunciation, this altered form of 
the name became the one that was always used. 

But if the cornchandler’s clerk had inherited a French 
name from his father, it was not so with his character or 
temperament. Intelligent and fairly well-educated, owing 
to his origin, he had a most passionate and vindictive na- 
ture. He was a man patiently to wait his time to strike 
an enemy, but, when the moment came, to slaughter with- 
out mercy. 

He had entered Gatelier's service when he was sixteen, 
and had soon discovered the power that a dealer in grain 
can obtain over the rustic population. He was too ambi- 
tious to limit his ideas"^o the making of a fortune, and he 
dreamed of attaining an important position in the province. 
He carefully watched the social changes which were tak- 
ing place in France, and, foreseeing the predominance of 
the wealthy middle-class, he determined to be a rich 


30 


ANTOINETTE. 


bourgeois and to have the whole arrondissement under his 
control. Thus the Marquis Honore had a formidable ad- 
versary, though he was quite unconscious of the fact. 

The Neuville fair which takes place on St. Firmin^s 
day, fell that year on Sunday, the twenty-fifth of Septem- 
ber. This fair answers the double purpose of giving the 
little town an opportunity of enjoying itself and also of 
treating about business affairs; for the large land-owners 
and farmers of the district come in throngs to the four 
days' fair, where large sales of horses, cattle and cereals 
take place. Old Gatelier had always made his provision 
for the winter at this fair. It was then that he met the 
farmers and struck his bargains seated at a table at the 
Cafe du Commerce' with the aid of numerous nips of spirit. 
]N’ot for an hour during the whole three days was the 
cornchandler sober, and, strange to say, the more tipsy 
he was, the harder were the bargains he drove. As his 
mouth opened, his purse closed. On the third day the 
good man was always as round as a barrel, all his pur- 
chases were completed, and he was carried to his own 
home, there to sleep himself sober. 

While their elders settled their business, the younger 
people gave themselves up to pleasure, and the public 
ball, then held in a tent erected before the mayoralty, 
was always crowded. All the middle-class population of 
La Neuville went to it, and the high families in the neigh- 
borhood put in an appearance from a feeling of friendly 
condescension to their farmers, whose wives and daugh- 
ters looked forward to this fete from the beginning of the 
year. It was customary for the gentry to dance at least 
one dance, and Carvajan thought with hatred that the 
young marquis would be able to ask Edile to be his 
partner and then talk to her, while he would be pow- 
erless. 

To his great surprise, Honore did not appear at the ball 
the first day of the fete. He showed himself in the mar- 
ket-place, chatted with the farmers, paid attention to 
their daughters, spent money at all the stalls, distributed 
his purchases amongst the children who flocked round 
him, found a pleasant word and smile for all, and then 
withdrew, saying he had a violent headache, while Edile 
laughed, danced, and amused herself, affecting such utter 
indifference, that Jean, freed from his apprehensions, re- 
laxed his watchfulness. He even began to think that the 
marquis' caprice was but a passing one, and that same 
other fantasy had already put it out of his head; and 
laughing at his own fears of compromised future and lost 


ANTOINETTE. 


31 


happiness, he displayed an unusual flow of spirits. 

On the Sunday, he competed in the games ot skill pre- 
pared for the young men, with the passionate earnestness 
which was natural to him, and gained several prizes. 
The marquis had not been seen, and it was said that he 
was ill, so for a few hours Carvajan was completely hap- 
py. His heart expanded, his nerves were strung to the 
pitch of enjoyment, and he led the dance with indefatig- 
able zeal. At midnight, just as the ball was at its 
height, he looked for Edile to ask her to bo his partner. 
He could not find her. He asked all Gatelier^s friends 
after her, but no one had seen her. Carvajan's limbs 
trembled, a mist floated before his eyes, and he was 
choked by a terrible palpitation of the heart. He had a 
presentiment that he had been tricked, and that the mar- 
quis' absence was but a blind. First he hastened to the 
Cafe du Commerce, where he found his master incapable 
of putting two ideas together, or of walking a yard,- and 
then he ran to the Euedu Marche, hoping that Edi.le, feel- 
ing tired, had gone home, but before he reached the house 
he saw that it was all dark, and that there was no light in 
the young girl's room, He went in, hastened up the 
stairs, which echoed mournfully beneath his feet, and 
kinocked at the door. There was no answer. He stood 
dazed, listening to the dull, quick beating of his heart; 
then, overwhelmed by the sense of his helplessness, he sat 
on the stairs and wept for rage as much as for grief. 

He remained there a long while, pondering terrible 
schemes of vengeance, while the noise of the fete and the 
music of the orchestra sounded in his ears, deadened by 
the distance. Then one idea gleamed bright in his anger- 
clouded brain. Perhaps Edile was^at Clairefont, per- 
haps there was yet time to tear her from the marquis. 
He rushed downstairs, and then along the rugged 
road of the plateau. He did not take more than a quar- 
ter of an hour to climb the steep hill, and he tore like a 
madman to the park-gate, which he found open. ' A car- 
riage and two vigorous post-horses stood before the chat- 
eau; he heard the door close with a bang which seemed 
to shake his very heart, and just as the coachman was 
about to start, he ran forward. In the darkness of the 
carriage he could confusedly see the forms of a man and 
woman, and with a moan he seized the handle of the 
door, and opened it, crying : 

Edile 

He was answered by a stifled exclamation, while at the 
same moment a muscular hand seized the collar of his 


32 ANTOINETTE. 

coat and threw him back, and an imperious voice said : 

“ Drive on V* 

Carvajan saw that nearly every chance was gone, and 
that it needed hut a turn of the wheels to place between 
him and the woman he loved an abyss impossible ever to 
bridge over. Making a last attempt, he sprang to the 
horses^ heads, shouting; 

Edile, get out ! There is yet time ! You shahiH go 

The horses were impatiently champing their bits. The 
same imperious voice, now slightly shaking with anger, 
spoke again : 

“ Let us have an end of this I If he does not go away 
cut him across the face with your whip.'^ 

The coaehman raised his arm, there was a swishing 
sound, and Carvajan, with bleeding cheek, and chest 
bruised by the carriage-pole, fell to the ground. 

When he regained consciousness, the court-yard was 
dark and silent, and in the distance on the Paris high 
road, looking like two stars, shone the lanterns 'of the 
carriage which was bearing away Edile and her seducer. 
Carvajan rose to his feet, and with dry eyes and aching 
heart walked back to the Kue du Marche, where old 
Gratelier had just been put to bed. He went to his mas- 
ter, tried to arouse him, shouted in his ear that his daugh- 
ter had eloped with Monsieur de Cliarefont. 

Carried ofP, do you hear?^' he yelled, tugging at the 
arm of the old drunkard. Carried off by that 
scoundrel — ” 

^‘Ah, ah — carried off, hiccoughed Gatelier, in whose 
brain there still lingered some dim notions of commercial 
enterprise. ‘‘Carried off, but you know, Carvajan, the 
carriage must be paid by the buyer. ** 

The clerk let go of the wretched man, who dropped in- 
to a heavy sleep again, and going up to his attic, Carva- 
jan threw himself on the bed, with shame and anger. 

However, Edile^s flight, which seemed destined to upset 
all Carvajan^s plans, resulted most happily for him ; for he 
was one of those privileged beings for whom everything 
turns out for the best, even misfortune. Gatelier, forsaken 
by his daughter, could find no other remedy for his grief but 
an increase of drunkenness. He lived at the Caf6 du Com- 
merce, and from morn to night he was to be seen there, 
his eyes glaring, his speech thick, while the table which 
was reserved for him became covered with his empty 
glasses. Completely besotted, he no longer paid any at- 
tention to his business, never mentioned his daughter’s 
name, left his house entirely to Carvajan, and in three 


ANTOINETTE. 


33 


years his shop acquired an importance it had never had 
when Gatelier settled his bargains between his drinks. 

Carvajan, cold, methodical, and exact, went all over the 
district visiting the farmers and advancing money to those 
who were embarrassed, taking as security the crops as 
they stood, and thus laying the foundation of an agrarian 
bank, which in later life was of the utmost importance to 
him, both from a financial and political point of view. 

At the beginning of the fourth year, Gatelier died. 
His funeral was very largely attended, for all his drink- 
ing companions were there. His daughter, who arrived 
the morning the burial took place, went straight to the 
Hue du Marche, whence she went to the church with Car- 
vajan, dressed in black, and wearing a thick crape veil, 
which hid her face completely. After the ceremony, she 
returned to the Hue du Marche, and left La Heuville 
again that evening, after remaining shut up with Carva- 
jan the whole day. 

The following morning the house painter was sum- 
moned and told to erase the old inscription from the door 
and to put the name of Carvajan in the place of Gatelier; 
and thus La Heuville learned that the clerk had become 
the head, an.d had succeeded to his master’s business. 
But what contract had been approved by Edile, or what 
agreement had been arranged between her and the man 
who had so dearly loved her, no one ever knew. She 
never returned to La Heuville, and there was a vague re- 
port that she was living in Paris, while some of the 
townspeople who set up for being well-informed about 
what was passing in the capital, said that the marquis 
had soon tired of the pretty villager and had left her, 
after handsomely setting her up in large underclothing 
shop. Edile had in fact married a bureaucrat with whom 
she lived very happily, and that was the commonplace 
conclusion of her love-tale. For some time Carvajan 
went about looking pale and sad, but no one dared to 
question him, although the curiosity was general ; for this 
thin, angular little man had a way of staring at the im- 
portunate, which put an end to any familiarity. 

From this time Carvajan lived but for his hatred and 
ambition, and he was not distracted from one by the 
other, for both had the same object in view, and the pro- 
gress that was made hy^ the one was also made by the 
other. His ambition was to overthrow and take the place 
of the Marquis de Clairefont, who occupied the highest 
position and possessed the largest fortune in the province, 
and his hatred would be amply satisfied when this two- 


34 


ANTOINETTE. 


fold result was obtained. A man who ardently and per- 
sistently pursues one aim in life is invincible, and Carva- 
jan, who was endowed with an imperious will and 
inexhaustible patience, was determined to subordinate 
every act to the slow, sure preparation of his vengeance 

He knew that the result he was aiming at he would 
perhaps have to wait years to attain, but he was impas- 
sively prepared to go on working at his subterranean 
mine, until the day when a last blow would bring about 
the final downfall. The absence of the marquis had in 
no wise lessened the violence of his feelings, for he had 
but to look up to remember. There on the hill was the 
white wall of Clairefont, and there was the spot where 
he had arrived alter a breathless course to rescue Edilo 
on the night of the fair. That he, Carvajan, should have 
been so completely duped by that lad of a marquis! 
Although it was ten years ago he turned pale with anger 
and humiliation at the thought. 

From a distance he watched Honor^^s life, and noted 
with joy that the aristocrat’s fortune. was diminishing as 
his own augmented. Monsieur de Clairefont, soon tired 
of his frivolous existence, had returned to his scientific 
amusements and had started various industrial enterprises, 
not one of which succeeded. His mind was more quick 
than well-balanced, more impetuous than practical ; he 
would take up an idea, follow it for a time, and think of 
nothing else ; then, after a great waste of time and money, 
abandon it for another. Carvajan, who received exact 
information about all these costly experiments, laughed : 

You will see that there will be no need for me to in- 
terfere; he will ruin himself.” 

One day some news which thrilled Carvajan with som- 
bre joy was spread through the town. The marquis had 
returned to his estate. A carriage bearing a coat-of-arms 
had been seen waiting at the railway station, and a gen- 
tleman had come by the train, a dim shadow of the bril- 
liant seigneur who had turned all the feminine heads in 
La Heuville in bygone times. Carvajan, wishing to as- 
certain for himself the presence of his enemy, climbed the 
hillside and from the road saw the chateau windows 
thrown wide open. For a long time he stayed at the 
edge of the terrace, plunged in gloomy meditation, and 
when evening was drawing on he saw Honor6 walking 
slowly amidst the flower-beds. Carvajan hardly knew 
him, so altered was he. The figure which used to be so 
lithe and slender had broadened, the handsome charming 
features were not so clearly cut, the hair was very thin. 


ANTOINETTE. 


35 


He was still a fine, noble looking gentleman, but he was 
no longer the good-looking youth with the womanish 
graces which had made him so fascinating. Carvajan 
watched him with his piercing eyes, and when he had 
seen him disappear round a bend in the path : 

So you are imprudent enough to return within my 
reach,^^ he said, stretching out a menacing hand in the 
marquis' direction. << Yery well, we shall see which will 
win." And slowly he returned to the dark and gloomy 
little house where he fostered his hatred in solitude. 

Honore was fated to astonish the inhabitants of La 
Heuville. As before he had led a mad, noisy existence, 
so he now lived a retired and industrious one. He was 
assiduous in his endeavors to improve his lands and make 
the most of his woods. He seemed to have peculiar ideas 
about everything, for he turned most of the spare ground 
about the chateau into meadows and erected a model 
dairy, while in the midst of the Clairefont woods he set 
up a steam-saw and began to effect some important clear- 
ings. He was constantly to be seen inspecting his works, 
and he never seemed so happy as when in the midst of his 
workmen. He applied all sorts of improvements of his 
own invention to the processes of felling the trees, and 
was always ready to put his hand to the work when the 
apparatus did not act. The rest of his time he passed in 
a turret-room filled with physical and chemical apparatus, 
and where he had had a furnace constructed for his chemi- 
cal experiments ; and he lived there in the glow of light 
which fell through the colored panes of the large old win- 
dows like some Doctor Faust. A servant had one day 
burnt his hands terribly with a phial of acid, and since 
then the marquis had given the task oftidying the labora- 
tory entirely to a confidential valet who had accompanied 
him everywhere and was devoted to him. This gave rise 
to extraordinary tales about this room which was now 
surrounded with mystery. It was said that the marquis 
forbade anyone to enter it because he was making experi- 
ments in magic, and when sometimes in the evening the 
windows of the turret were illuminated with a fantastic 
glow, the passers-by watched “"with terror the gleams 
which shot out amidst the darkness in the distance. 

He had no doubt discovered a secret way of manuring 
his fields and fertilizing his meadows, for since he had in- 
terested himself in agriculture his harvests were immense. 

“ Our master certainly gets fine wheat and plenty of 
hay," said his farmers enviously. We don't knoww’^hat 
manures he uses, but they cost a great deal and perhaps 


36 


ANTOINETTE. 


they^re not right for men to use.^" 

Carvajan, who did not believe in witchcraft, saw at 
once how he could turn the marquis’ new line of conduct 
to his own advantage. In the visits he was constantly 
paying all over the arrondissementj he said to the farmers : 

‘‘Well, my good friends, you have an unexpected rival. 
Monsieur B[onor6 is growing crops and sending his milk 
to market. He has the means of working on a large 
scale, and you must expect a fall in prices, for of course 
he doesn’t want the money and he will undersell you.” 

In this way he indirectly excited discontent. He had 
already found an ally in Tondeur, the wood-merchant, 
who could not watch in silence Monsieur de Clairefont 
cutting down his own oaks and sending them direct to the 
great ship-building yards, while what made him most 
wrathful of all was the steam-saw that the marquis used. 
On that point he could never say enough. 

“What!” he would explain to his boon companions at 
the inn. “Here are we poor wretches with only our 
arms to get us a living, and here’s this man, with all his 
money, lessening our chances of employment by using 
machines which go by themselves. A wood-cutter can 
get only two francs a day for his work now instead of 
three, and, by Jove, I can find as many men as I want 
only too ready to work for that. There are more work- 
men now than there is work for them to do.” 

As a matter of fact, the steam-engine and the saws of 
Honore’s invention not only brought in no money but 
cost a great deal. But by lowering the rate of wages the 
timber-merchant attained the double end of doing the 
marquis considerable moral harm and of making a good 
deal of money. 

Yet, in spite of all that Carvajan and his clique could 
say, the popularity of the chateau was still great, and the 
work of destruction was not to be finished in a day. 

In 1847, Monsieur de Clairefont, having stood as a can- 
didate at the elections for the General Council with the 
support of the Hoyalist committees, had won by a large 
majority, utterly defeating Zephyre Dumonticr, the 
wealthy miller of the valley, who represented the Hepub- 
lican party. The electoral campaign had been a hardly- 
fought one, and Carvajan had shown himself so strongly 
in favor of Honore’s opponent that the miller’s daughter 
was struck by his behavior and thought that what the 
cornchandler was doing from hatred he was doing from 
love. Carvajan was too practical not to profit by the ad- 
vantages he possessed in the damsel’s imagination, and 


ANTOINETTE. 


37 


six months later he married her with a dowry of a hun- 
dred thousand francs. 

The following year the marquis married also, marrying 
for love instead of for money as his father had done. 
His bride was the younger daughter of the Baron de 
Saint Maurice, whose estates were near those of Monsieur 
de Clairefont, and who was an old man of great pride 
and little fortune, possessed with a great sense of his own 
high rank and important position, which aristocratic ideas 
he had transmitted to his elder daughter. Mademoiselle 
Isabelle. The new marchioness, who was a simple, sweet 
tempered woman, bore her husband two children, Eobert 
and Antoinette, and was during her too brief lifetime the 
angel of the household. When at thirty-five years of 
age she died, she took with her all the wisdom of the 
house and left Honore an easy prey to his inventive mania, 
which had become more costly as he grew older. 

Eobert was thirteen and Antoinette ten when they lost 
their motl^er, and to take her place they had only a 
father absorbed in schemes of a scientific Utopia, and an 
old maiden aunt, whom celibacy had made decidedly 
masculine, and who was fifty years behind current ideas. 

Mademoiselle Isabelle had deserted the little Chateau 
de Saint-Maurice to take up her abode at Clairefont, and 
while her brother-in-law passed his life in making discov- 
eries which were admirable in theory but ruinous in prac- 
tice, she taught her young niece to ride, shot in the' park 
with her nephew, and astonished everyone by her decided 
tone, her strange theories and her outspokenness, though 
at heaidi she was the most moral woman that ever lived, 
and so ugly into the bargain that no one could ever have 
conceived the shadow of an improper thought about her. 
She was ignorant to the point of saying that Henri lY. 
was the son of Henri III., and had a brusque sensitiveness 
which was almost an inclination to grumble. She had 
nearly a beard, and if anyone had so far forgotten himself 
as to call her madam instead of mademoiselle she would 
have been capable of boxing his ears. Never had so 
many barbarisms fallen from one mouth before. An ex- 
pression of hers was: 

My nephew rides like a bucentaur.^' 

The marquis had tried to tell her of the education of 
Achilles and the lessons of the centaur Chiron and to 
make her see the difference between a man-horse and the' 
barge of the doge of Y enice, but she had answered readily : 

My dear, leave me alone with your ^ correctments.' 
Everyone speaks in his own way, and I am not sure 


38 


ANTOINETTE. 


yours is the right one. The chief thing is for peo- 
ple to know what I mean, and until now your son and 
daughter have understood what I wished to say. Our 
forefathers didn^t know as much as you do, and things 
couldnH have gone better than in their time, whereas 
nowadays everything is in a regular ^ cacophony.^ ” 

His Aunt Isabelle had exercised a most harmful in- 
fluence over Bobert^s character. From his childhood she 
had petted the young count with a rough affection, and 
had led him to think that the world had been created for 
the special pleasure and use of the Clairefonts and Saint 
Maurices, and that other beings who happened to be on 
it were merely the servants of these two noble families. 

Bobert, who was a handsome, good-natured, ruddy- 
complexioned boy, gifted with an extraordinarily idle 
mind and a prodigiously active body, did credit to his 
Aunt Isabelle's system of education and showed himself 
the most ardent sportsman, the deepest drinker and the 
boldest lover in the department. There was something 
of the masculine and brutal grandeur of the feudal lords 
about him, and when her brother-in-law bewailed his 
son's idle and turbulent ways, old Mademoiselle de Saint 
Maurice would say : 

Yes, you are quite amazed at him, no doubt. You are. a 
Clairefont of to-day, he is a Clairefont of the past." 

As for Antoinette, she had developed into a charming, 
simple, modern young lady, in spite of her aunt's 
tumultuous teaching. She was not at all like a marchion- 
ess in her manners, which were as sweet and gentle as 
her brother's were noisy, and by varied reading she had 
managed to learn a great deal without neglecting the 
physical exercises of which old Mademoiselle Isabelle 
was such an ardent upholder. She was tall and ex- 
quisitely proportioned ; her eyes were dark, shining and 
full of expression, her face was oval and firesh-com- 
plexioned, and when her curved lips were parted, two 
rows of even white teeth could be seen, while, notwith- 
standing her height, she had tiny hands and feet. There 
was an air of good-nature about her; one felt that 
she was healthy in mind and body — indeed she was sug- 
gestive of a ripe peach, delightful alike to eye and taste. 

She adored her father, whom she spoiled like a child. 
The only one in the house who paid any attention to his 
scientific theories, she tried hard to understand them, and, 
when she did not succeed, confidently admired them all 
the same. She drew clear copies of his plans and filled 
them in with water-colors, to Monsieur de Clairefont’s in- 


ANTOINETTE. 


39 


tense delight j and the touching admiration he read 
in his daughter's eyes was the sweetest triumph the mar- 
quis could have had. It was, besides, his only one, for 
never had so unlucky an inventor existed. Not once had 
Monsieur de Clairefont — whose fertile brain was con- 
stantly filled with fresh ideas — obtained a result of any 
practical use. He devoted himself to trying to find some 
bold and profitable improvement in agricultural matters; 
bold his inventions certainly were — some people indeed 
called them mad — but profitable they were not, except as 
far as the men who sold the apparatus, the chemical pro- 
ducts and the other costly things needed to carry out his 
ideas, were concerned. 

Aunt Isabelle expressed her opinion on her brother-in- 
law’s reasoning monomania with perfect frankness. 

You’ve got a tile loose, ” she told him. You’re not 
mad enough to be shut up in a lunatic asylum, and you’ve 
not got enough sense to be left free. You’ll squander all 
your money on your ‘ machinations,’ and when it’s all 
gone, neither you nor I will know where to get any more 
from. In olden times a good lettre de cachet would have 
calmed you down, but now one can get nothing of the sort, 
and in the meantime you’re throwing everything away. ” 

The marquis laughed at these scoldings, which were 
uttered by the old virago almost at the top of her voice; 

One of these days, sister, I shall find what I am seek- 
ing, and you will be astounded by seeing me make a for- 
tune which will be envied by our largest merchants, for 
with one stroke I shall gain riches and renown. ” 

And then people will say: ^Clairefont, dealer in 
this, or manufacturer of that. ’ A fine renown indeed ! 
When you married my sister, you still had eighty thousand 
francs a year. It was a good income, and you should 
have kept within it and have laid something by to give 
your children. But you prefer to lavish it on science, 
and allow yourself to be taken in by swindlers who charge 
you a tremendous price for little odds and ends not worth 
twopence, and never think of the future. But you have 
enemies, and you know the proverb — ^You shouldn’t 
count without your hoist. ’ ” 

Without your host, my dear sister,” corrected 
Honor6, gently, and with a shake of his head, which was 
already white, he went up to his turret again. 

In spite of the anxiety that the daily diminution in the 
marquis’ financial resources caused his family, the occu- 
pants of Clairefont were happy, and this was not the 
case in Carvajan’s house, notwithstanding the notorious 


40 ANTOINETTE. 

increase of influence and wealth he had gained. 

For the last ten years the little house in the Rue du 
March6 had remained just the same as when it was oc- 
cupied by old Gatelier, except that now it was Carvajan 
and his family who lived their hardworking lives there 
instead of the tipsy old cornchandler. The illusions of 
Monsieur Dumontier’s daughter had been speedily dissi- 
pated, and she had shed many bitter tears since she had 
discovered that her husband had only married her for 
her money. Her child was the only bright spot in her 
life. Little Pascal was her all — her present and her 
future ; his smile made her forget her sorrows, and she 
cheerfully acquiesced in Carvajan's rigid economy, think- 
ing that one day her son would be the richer for it. 

Pascal grew up in^the low, narrow, dark old house in 
fear and trembling of his father — that terrible man with 
the bronzed skin, sharp nose and eyes as round, shining 
and as yellow as golden louis. But behind this threaten- 
ing countenance was his mother’s pale, sad face— the 
mother whose gentle look seemed to reach his heart, and 
whose tender words opened and instructed his mind. 
They lived, she and he, in a room wainscoted with dark 
wood, and with one window still filled with the old 
greenish panes, on the sill of which stood a large box 
full of growing pinks, and wallflowers. Pascal used to 
take his playthings by this window, and thus his mother 
coiild feast her eyes on her child and her flowers at 
the same time. 

Carvajan was only seen at meal times. When he was 
not hastening along the roads, he shut himself up in his 
office, which was on the ground floor, and whither the 
farmers in need of a loan brought, clinging to their heavy 
boots, specimens of the soil of all the hamlets in the dis- 
trict. The heavy knocker, lifted by impatient hands, 
would echo dully through the hall, and then on the stones 
came the drawling step of the servant going to open the 
door. Sometimes the sound of a violent discussion, 
promptly stopped by Carvajan’s sharp, incisive tones, 
reached the first story; the doors would be slammed, and 
Pascal would put his head out of the window between 
the flower-stalks and see the visitor walking down the 
Rue du March6, with his head bent and his shoulders 
bowe4 as if weighed down by some heavy burden 
Sometimes when he reached the corner of the market- 
place the man turned round, displaying an angry face and 
threatening fist, and once a peasant had stood before the 
house and cried : 


ANTOINETTE. 


41 


^‘You have my cows, you have my land. Do you 
want my skin as well, you scoundrel of a usurer 

The child was only seven years old when this incident 
occurred, and he pondered over it a long while, feeling 
that it was an insult that had been addressed to his father, 
hut failing to understand its signification. The word im- 
pressed itself upon his memory, and he tried to discover 
its sense and weight. In his imagination he formed a 
terrible image of a usurer, in the form of one of those 
dark, ferocious giants of the fairy tales, who are the ter- 
ror of the innocent and the weak. He dreamt of this 
creation at night, seeing the horrible monster with his 
father^s face, until at last he could contain himself no 
longer, and, after a great deal of hesitation, ventured to 
ask his mother. 

What is a usurer?" 

The poor woman turned pale beneath her child's limpid 
gaze. For a moment she was a silent, then she said : 

“ Why do you ask?" 

Pascal told her of the scene he had witnessed, and, 
after a moment's thought, Madame Carvajan said; 

Hever repeat that word, my darling. Those who are 
unhappy are very often unjust. That man was very likely 
going away from here without having obtained what he 
wanted, and he blamed your father for his disappointment. 
But you may be sure that even if Carvajan is sometimes 
a little hard in business matters, he is scrupulously honest. 
He is your father, and you ought to love and respect him."^ 

But as she spoke there was a slight quiver in her voice,, 
and her eyes filled with tears. Pascal never forgot this 
scene, and later on he understood its painful meaning. 

Of the merciless warfare that his father had commenced 
against the Marquis de Clairefont, Pascal was totally 
ignorant during his youth, for Carvajan knew how to 
keep his secrets, and he had never confided his hopes of 
vengeance to anyone. 

Pascal was first sent to the college at Bvreux to com- 
mence his studies; then, as Carvajan's wealth continued to 
increase, a provincial course of instruction seemed insuffi- 
cient for his son, so his heir presumptive was sent to Paris, 
where he stayed until he was twenty. 

He passed all his examinations, entered as a law stu- 
dent, and returned to La Heuville with a licentiate's de- 
gree. He was a man by then, and his mind knew how 
to appreciate what his eyes beheld. He found no change 
in the house in the Eue du Marche; it was still dark and 
low, and there were the same tram-pings of muddy boots,, 


42 


ANTOINETTE. 


the same muttered discussions. Everything had grown 
older; the lender and the borrowers had aged, but the 
traffic in money went On exactly as it had done in the 
past. The faces still puckered with rage, the lips still 
parted to utter a word which was left unspoken now (for 
Carvajan was a man who had to be conciliated), and this 
word was the word of the past, the word which would be 
applied to him all his life — usurer. 

Carvajan had not altered his style of living, and he 
kept but a general servant who worked like a horse. 
Madame Carvajan still shut herself up in her room as she 
had done before Pascal went away, and the only change 
that could be seen in her was that her hair had turned 
gray. It was a moment of intense joy for her when she 
again pressed her son in her arms, but her joy was of 
short duration, for it was evident that Pascal and his 
father could not agree; and for anyone who knew Car- 
vajan the situation portended furious storms. 

At the end of the twenty-four hours he had allowed for 
maternal effusiveness, the head of the family summoned 
his son to the office on the ground-floor, where Pascal 
found him quietly pacing up and down. 

“ My boy,^' said his father, stopping abruptly in his 
promenade, you are back again in my house, and I am 
pleased to see you here. You have passed your examina- 
tions well and everything leads me to believe that you 
are no fool. I have been thinking that, of course, you in- 
tend to seek employment. You are a barrister by pro- 
fession, and we have a court here where those who plead 
are fools, so you would have no trouble in showing your 
superiority. I am in a position to help you to acquire a 
good practice; are you disposed to follow this path?^^ 
And as the young man bowed his head without speaking — 
Yes ? Then you must enter your name at the bar of 
La Neuville ; to begin, look over these for me.'" 

So saying, ho took a pile of papers from his desk and 
placed them in his son’s arms. Then giving him a 
friendly tap on the shoulder, he said : 

You can be of great use to me if you choose, and in 
return I’ll put you in the way of making money.” 

Pascal shut himself up alone all day and went through 
the papers, which soon opened his eyes. What his father 
vaguely called “things” was the art of exploiting one’s 
fellow-creature with astounding skill and dexterity. It 
was all barely within the limits of the Code, and in shady 
cases there were middle-men who took the responsibility 
and left Carvajan the profits. In not one transaction was 


ANTOINETTE. 


43 


the banker’s name to be found. He bad merely bought 
up the bills, and all the tricks of the system of names 
that go for nothing passed before Pascal’s astonished 
eyes. In that one day he formed an opinion of his father 
which nothing could ever eradicate, and with his head 
bowed over the mass of legal quibbling which had just 
served as such a painful revelation of the truth, he re- 
mained lost in thought. All the suddenly recalled past 
returned to his mind. He remembered the unfortunate 
wretches who used to go out of the little house looking 
like shorn sheep. Again ho heard the discussions which 
teemed with violent words, again he saw the convulsed 
faces, the clenched fists shaken against his father’s roof, 
again the abominable word rang in his ear — usurer! 
Could he, indeed, be the son of such a man, he whose 
heart glowed with generous sentiments, he who loved the 
good, the true and the beautiful? And was he going to 
become his accomplice? Was he to shield him publicly 
with his power, defend him with his words and lend the 
aid of his knowledge to the mean and pitiful work of 
despoiling the weak ? Ho I Never ! 

Night was falling over La Neuville, and the deserted 
streets were silent. The sky was crimson with the last 
rays of the sun, which had almost sunk below the horizon. 
There came the faint, melancholy sound of a church bell 
ringing in the distance, and to the young man it seemed 
to be tolling the knell of his innocence. He told himself 
that all was over for him in this life, that he would never 
know another moment’s happiness, and he wept bitterly. 

He trembled at the thought of meeting his father, but 
it had to be done, for he found himselt driven into a 
situation from which there was no escape by his integrity. 
He went downstairs to the dining-room, where he found 
his parents already seated at the table, on which the 
soup was steaming. His mother was struck by his de- 
jected air, and glanced at him anxiously. Cavajan rubbed 
his hands together, and said with a laugh : 

Here’s a fellow who looks as though he has been 
working hard! Yery good, but now let’s have dinner.” 

The meal was passed in silence. Pascal ate, absorbed 
in the preparation of defensive arguments. Madame 
Carvajan sadly bowed her head with the presentiment of 
a storm, and Carvajan greedily devoured his food. Din- 
ner over, he said to his wife : 

My dear, you can go up to your room. Pascal and I 
have to talk.” 

He took the young man into his office, seated himself, 


44 


ANTOINETTE. 


and, with a piercing look, said in his hard voice : 

No preamble, no leading up, no hesitation; he went 
straight to the point at once. And there must be no eva- 
sion in the answer to this terrible, threatening Well?’^ 
Pascal called up his courage, steadied his trembling limbs, 
and opening his parched lips, said in a strange voice : 

Well, father, to tell you the truth, I think these mat- 
ters deplorable. I have studied them thoroughly, and 
your reputation can but suffer if you follow them up 
as far as the law permits. If I might offer you advice, it 
would be to come to an arrangement to avoid publicity/" 

Carvajan did not reply at once. His face hardened, he 
gave vent to an ironic whistle ; then, slowly rising; 

‘‘ But I have advanced money, my boy, and I must be 
repaid. I am not afraid of the light being thrown on my 
actions. I simply find myself compelled to sell up the 
debtors who do not pay me what they owe. These brutes of 
peasants have a mania for borrowing more than they can 
pay back. Those who have no land give me their crops 
as security — the agrarian credit, you know — and without 
me they wouldn't be able to pay their landlords. Ho you 
think I am going to make them a present of my money ? 
After all, sacrebleu, I am not a philanthropist, but a man 
of business, and at the expiration of the time I must have 
either the money or the security. But you are letting me 
talk on, with your airs of innocence, as if you did not un- 
derstand the question just as well as I do!' Don't you 
see you mustn't judge things from a theoretical point of 
view, or with the ideas you had at college ? You must be 
practical. Would you like me to tell you the whole truth 
about the matter? Well, then, these rogues that you are 
pitying so much, get the better of me, and these bargains, 
which seem so terrible to you, I simply lose over!" 

He uttered those words with so admirably simulated an 
accent of conviction that his son could not find a word to 
answer. People got the better of him ! He, Carvajan, was 
the victim, and his debtors plundered him ! 

The banker took a few strides, then placing himself op- 
posite his son and looking him straight in the face ; 

But there is only one thing we need concern ourselves 
about. Will you take charge of my affairs?" 

For, one second Pascal hesitated. Then the blood 
mounted to his face and he answered shortly ; 

^‘No." 

Ah, ah," said Carvajan, ‘‘you don't mince your words, 
But do you think Pm going to have you doing nothing?'* 


ANTOINETTE. 45 

I will find something to do, father, never fear. And 
I implore you not to try to force me.’^ 

“ Have I shown any intention of doing so ?” said Car- 
vajan roughly. ‘‘ I should have been pleased to make you 
a partner in my transactions and to have let you profit by 
my experience, but you scorn my help and pretend that 
your own strength is sufficient for you. It is possible 
that I have produced an eagle, but until I receive proof 
to the contrary, I shall think you a gander. Good-bye, 
my lad. You are setting up for a man with principles. 
,We shall see how much that will benefit you in life.^^ 

He opened the door, signed to his son to go out, and 
without adding another word closed the door behind him. 
When he was alone he paced the room for some time in 
silence, his face distorted with anger. At last he stopped, 
and bringing his hand violently down upon his desk : 

How dared he set up his opinion against mine ! he 
exclaimed. A boy of twenty to criticize his father's do- 
ings! Oh well, I have left him free to do as he likes, 
sacrebleu! It's the first time I have tolerated any resist- 
ance, and, upon my word, I think he had the best of it.'' 

He shook his head, remained for a moment lost in 
thought, then added, with a slight smile: 

He knows what he wants. He's a Carvajan." 

Yes, Pascal was a Carvajan, but a Carvajan with all the 
energetic determination, all the passionate ardor of his 
race based upon a foundation of scrupulous integrity. He 
kept his word and entered his name at the Court of La 
jSTeuville, but he had hardly practiced there a year before 
his reputation was such that he was sent to the Court of 
Eoueh to oppose the shrewd old Hormandy lawyers there. 
Ho spoke with extraordinary clearness and elegance of 
diction, and, warming with his subject, he often reached 
the height of true eloquence. The astonished magistrates 
listened without feeling bored or wanting to doze, and his 
cases gained by the attention he managed to secure. 

The unexpected glory which Pascal reflected on him 
produced a double result upon old Carvajan — it at onqe 
flattered and enraged him. He knew the young man 
would rapidly acquire considerable influence, and he also 
knew he was slipping from his power. If Pascal's abili- 
ties had only attained mediocrity he would not have 
cared ; he would simply have kept him at home with con- 
temptuous indifference and given him his board and 
lodging. But when Pascal showed himself possessed of 
talents so superior, was it not exasperating to be unable 
to use him ? 


46 


ANTOINETTE. 


What an instrument of strength he would have been in 
the hands of a clever man, and how quickly that man 
could have made himself master of the arrondissement! 
The only thing Carvajan was wanting in was the gift of 
speech. He had ideas, but he could not express them. 
But in addition to all the favors she already bestowed 
upon him. Fate had given him a son capable of being his 
mouthpiece, and now this mouthpiece was unruly and 
would not repeat the arguments whispered to him. 

There was no longer any question of committing affairs 
of a shady character to Pascahs care, for Carvajan^s am- 
bition kept pace in its growth with that of the barrister's 
repute. No, what he wanted now was to oppose the mar- 
quis on political ground, to turn public opinion in his 
own favor and so assure his election. 

But how could he gain the ascendant over his son ? He 
had never shown him any affection ; he had let him grow 
up without seeking to win his heart, and now it was too 
late to try. There was, however, one last resource for 
him, there was still one sure and powerful lever left for 
him to use — Pascahs affection for his mother. 

For some years the poor woman had suffered from very 
delicate health, and daily she had grown weaker without 
uttering a complaint. Her son's return had been a great 
joy to her. His presence seemed to brighten and light 
up the old house. Carvajan himself seemed less morose 
and better tempered; he stayed in the dining-room of an 
evening after dinner talking with cynical verve and evi- 
dently laying himself out to please. He was becoming 
quite sociable, and the mother and son, while they re- 
joiced at the change, could not help wondering what de- 
signs this amiability served to hide. 

One morning Carvajan went into his wife's room as 
soon as it was light, inquired after her health, gave her a 
playful tap on the cheek and, seating himself, said: 

Will you have a little talk, my dear ? I want your 
help in a very delicate negotiation. If you do what I am 
going to ask you, I shall be infinitely obliged to you, and 
it lies within your power if only you will do it." 

Whom does it concern ? " asked the mother, turning 
pale and a pang shooting through her heart. 

‘‘ Your son." 

What has happened to him ? " 

^‘Nothing, nothing; don't be alarmed. It is not a 
question of the present but the future, about which I am 
occupying myself in his interests. He is a clever fellow 
and it is to your credit that you are his mother. Nothing 


ANTOINETTE. 


47 


is too high for him to aim at, but one must look a long 
way ahead to succeed, and that is what has brought me 
here. You and he are always talking together, and you 
ought to give him good sound advice instead of chatting 
about trifles. There is a high position to be gained in 
the country for the man who knows how to turn all these 
new ideas to his advantage. The Eepublicans are coming 
daily to the fore and theirs is the side to be on. Talk to 
Pascal on this subject and tell me what are his opinions. 
Do your best with him ; if you succeed you sha'nH regret 
it, I promise you. ” 

For a few days he carefully studied the countenances 
of both mother and son, and watched their every move- 
ment in the endeavor to obtain some intelligence, but he 
discovered nothing. At the end of a week, during which, 
accustomed to wait and to dissimulate as he was, he was 
consumed with impatience, he determined to make some 
inquiries. The answer he received was not at all what he 
had hoped. Pascal had no political ambition, and the 
idea of plunging himself into the turmoil of public life 
was most distasteful to him. 

Carvaj an listened to what his wife was telling him, a 
prey to a violent rage which took his very breath away. 
He felt as if his head had suddenly become hard as 
stone and was compressing his brain within it, and his 
thoughts rushed through his mind with dazzling rapidity. 
For a moment he stood mechanically watching his trem- 
bling hands, then with an exclamation ho burst forth. 

Do you think you^re going to make game of me any 
longer? he cried. You and your son will obey me or 
you'll leave this house. I am the only master here ; no 
one has ever resisted me yet, and does this young scamp 
think ho is going to set up his will against mine ? Pll 
teach him his place ! Pll cut off the comb of your young 
cock, and then we'll see if he'll crow so high! Do you 
hear, Madame Carvaj an ? It'll be the worse for him. 
I'll turn him out of the house, and the whole town shall 
know of his behavior to me." 

For a long time he went on talking in this strain, 
finding a vent for his anger in his violent words. He 
thoroughly terrified his unfortunate wife, who, seized 
with fever, was compelled to take to her bed. The fol- 
lowing day her condition had become highly' critical, and 
by the end of the week she was at the last extremity. 

Her son never left her room, tending her with loving 
care and listening in horror to her delirious wanderings 
in which she repeated all Carvaj an's threats. One even- 


48 


ANTOINETTE. 


ing she regained her reason, and lying an icy hand on 
PascaFs forehead, she whispered ; 

“ My darling, we are going to be parted, and it is an 
inexpressible grief to me — I love you so dearly. We 
have had sorrow lately, but you must forget all about it. 
Never do any injury to your fellow-creatures; the greatest 
happiness there is on earth is that of being good."' 

Her voice died away and she fell into a death-like 
swoon, but she recovered and asked for her husband. 
She talked to him for some time while her son retired 
out of ear-shot into the window where her favorite 
flowers still bloomed. Carvajan listened to her in sil- 
ence with a gloomy expression on his face, but at last she 
made an imperious gesture to which he answered by an 
assenting nod of the head. Then the face of the dying 
woman illumined, and she sank back with a sigh of relief, 
as if a crushing load had just been removed from her 
shoulders Calling Pascal, she said to him: 

Let me see you embrace your father.^' 

The young man, overwhelmed with grief, gladly threw 
himself into his father’s arms, and gave him two warm 
kisses, which the latter returned with lips which the 
hardness of his heart made more icy than those of the 
dying woman. Then Madame Carvajan sent her son out 
of the room, and was left alone with her lawyer. That 
evening the end seemed near, and she broke the silence 
she had kept hitherto, and whispered to Pp^scal : 

I have left all the law permits, me to dispose of to 
your father. I know you are able to make your own 
fortune, and it was the only way of assuring your peace. 
Carvajan is a terrible man — never set up your will against 
his. The loss of your inheritance will be the price of 
your liberty — forgive me for depriving you of what ought 
to have been yours. Lead a good life — always be good.” 

And it was with these gentle words on her lips that she 
died. Pascal closed her eyes, and bent down to kiss her. 

Be easy, mother. Your goodness is my inheritance.” 

And, as if the dead woman had heard this promise as 
she passed over the threshold of eternity, a smile crept 
over her pale lips. 

The day after the funeral, Jean Carvajan called his son 
into the ofiice which had been the scene of their first dis- 
agreement, and said coldly : 

My son, the misfortune which has just befallen us must 
of necessity make a great change in our lives. Before I 
arrive at any decision, I should like to know your plans.” 

They are very simple, father. If you have no objec- 


ANTOINETTE. 


49 


tion, I shall leave La N’euville.^' 

^^You are free to do so” said Carvajan, while his 
brow frowned at the memory of his disappointed hopes. 

Yery well, then I will go to-morrow." 

My house will be open whenever you want to return." 

Thank you," answered Pascal, and not another word 
was spoken by either. 

The next day, Pascal went away, leaving Carvajan 
alone in the little house in the Eue du Marche. 


CHAPTEE III. 

When she left Pascal on the plateau overlooking the 
valley of La ISTeuville, Mademoiselle de Clairefont quicken- 
ed her horse's pace , for she was anxious to place a distance 
between herself and this man whom at first she had liked, 
and in whom she had been sorry to discover a Carvajan. 
She would have dismissed him from her thoughts as from 
her sight, but, in spite of herself, the face of her chance com- 
panion with its broad forehead, its clear eyes and serious 
mouth haunted her persistently. He has the face of a 
true and honest man," she thought, ‘^and yet he is the son 
of a scoundrel. Though," she went on, making an un- 
wonted concession, ^‘perhaps for all that he is , good and 
honorable." But her mind at once rose in revolt against 
this inexplicable indulgence, and she added to herself, 
^‘But that is not very probable. Like father, like son ; 
and besides he looked quite aghast and confused when he 
heard who I was, and he couldn't look me in the face. 
Whence does he come to work us harm ? " For to An- 
toinette, it seemed impossible that a Carvajan could have 
any other aim in life than doing injury to a Clairefont. 

But alas! was there still any injury left to do them? 
What fresh blow could be dealt to this family that had 
sunk to a degree of poverty which was almost want ? 
And with a feeling of deep melancholy this girl, who was 
but twenty-three years old, looked back at the past and 
noted the steps in the slow but sure ruin of her father. 

Again she saw the chateau brilliant, full of life, and lux- 
uriously appointed as it had been when she was quite a 
child. As she grew older, the style of the house fell off; 
there were not so many horses in the stables, the servants 
were fewer, the worn furniture remained instead of new 
taking its place. Her home in fact became less cosy, less 
warm, less pretty, and she noticed the change ; but, with 
the easy carelessness of youth, attached no importance to 


ANTOiNETTE\ 


66 

it until the day when, reason lending its light to her ma- 
turer mind, she understood that misery was boldly 
knocking for admittance at the doors of Clairefont, and 
that its surest ally was the marquis himself. 

After that, nothing could be hidden from her penetrat- 
ing eyes, and often she found a summons on the hall table 
wfich had been placed there that very morning, with its 
icy lugubrious formula in the crabbed legal handwriting, 
commanding the ^‘aforesaid Monsieur de Clairefont, to 
pay such and such a sum, in default of which his goods 
would bo seized and sold. But the debt always was paid. 
A supreme effort was made, all the purses were turned 
out, all the drawers rummaged over, and as the last drop 
is extracted from the empty grape-skins, so were the few 
remains of former opulence made to furnish the needful 
supply. But it was pitiful to the last degree. 

Their material existence alone was not eft’ected by the 
continual diminution in the patrimonial fortune. 
Enough to live on could be procured from what was left 
of the land. The poultry-yard provided fowls, the kitch-. 
en-garden vegetables, and the farm flour, beef and mut- 
ton. Fires were kept up with wood from the park, 
hforses were fed with hay from the meadows. But money 
was always scarce, and Mademoiselle de Clairefont was 
forced to make her own dresses. 

The marquis, who was always absorbed in some ab- 
struse problem, seemed not to notice their straitened cir- 
cumstances, and, indeed, to tell the truth, he was hardly 
aware of them ; for from the day that Antoinette had 
first realized the embarrassments in which her father had 
involved his family, she did everything that was possible 
to spare the inventor the irksomeness of such a situation. 
She had formed a blockade of affection around him, and 
had set her wits to work to keep all the worries for her- 
self. She was like a mother to this old child, and who 
was always full of the hope of making a discovery which 
would enable him to return a hundredfold that of which 
he had deprived his family. 

On one point alone had it been impossible to put him 
off. For two years Antoinette had been engaged to 
Monsieur de Croix-Mcsnil, but time after time she had 
deferred her marriage. The baron was a good-looking, 
good-natured young officer, whose father, an eminent 
judge, had a right to aspire to the highest judicial posi- 
tion. The union between the two families, which had 
been arranged when the marquis was still in apparent 
possession of his estate, had seemed on the eve of being 


ANTOINETTE. 


51 


\ 

concluded. Mademoiselle de Clairefont had regarded her 
suitor very favorably, and the baron seemed much at- 
tached to his fianc6e. The family lawyers had held sun- 
dry conferences, by which it was shown that the future 
bridegroom inherited from his mother landed property 
worth forty thousand francs a year, and his bride three 
hundred thousand francs, also from her mother, her 
brother having given up his share to her. Everything 
was settled and arranged, and the banns were about to be 
published, when Mademoiselle de Clairefont abruptly 
altered her mind, and, using the death of a distant rela^ 
tive as a pretext, asked for the ceremony to be put off. 

Aunt Isabelle, to whom had been conlided the mission 
of announcing Antoinette's fresh decision to the baron, 
acquitted herself of her task in her usual rough way, 
with which, however, was mingled a touch of sympathy. 

‘^My dear boy,^" she had said to Croix-Mesnil in a 
consolatory way, ‘‘my niece has taken it into her head 
not to marry you just yet, so you must make up your 
mind to mi^ke the best of it like a brave fellow. After 
all, what is ‘ demurred ' is not lost.” 

And as the bridegroom complained with tender insist- 
ence of the delay it meant to his happiness : 

“ Dofft blame her ! ” she exclaimed with an emotion 
which caused her to utter twice as many barbarisms as 
usual. “ That child is simply perfection ! If you only 
knew — but there, you canT know. But, take my word for 
it — she’s an angel. Yes, an ‘ immatriculate ' angel ! ” 

The baron displayed a proper amount of disappoint- 
ment, expressed sufficient regret, and asked to be allowed 
to continue his wooing as in the past, a request which 
was acceded to. The marquis was really grieved by this 
semi-rupture, but though he persistently questioned his 
daughter, he could obtain no explanation from her. She 
only smiled, and answered with the words: 

“ I am quite happy with you. I would rather wait 
a little while.” 

“ But I shall feel easier when I see you married, my 
dear,” said the old man. “ Your establishment is a great 
care to mo; what would become of you if I were gone?” 

. Antoinette and Aunt Isabelle exchanged a meaning 
glance, and a slight smile stole over the lips of the former. 
She took the old man's white head between her hands, 
and gently caressing it : 

“ Don't worry,” she said tenderly, “ The marriage will 
take place one day or other, but don't hurry me.” 

Then with a sudden change of tone she went on; 


52 


ANTOINETTE. 


“Besides, you know how obstinate I am, since I have 
a little of the Saint-Maurice blood in my veins, and Fm 
not to be forced into doing what I don't wish." 

“ She is hiding something from me," thought the mar- 
quis, “ that her aunt knows all about. It will all come 
out one of these days." 

If, instead of pursuing the flight of his fancies through 
the labyrinth of his mind, the inventor had looked after 
his accounts, he might have connected Mademoiselle de 
Clairefont's resolution with the payment of a bill for two 
hundred thousand francs, which had been swallowed up 
by the Great Marl-Pit, and have understood why his 
daughter no longer wished to marry. But there were 
only Aunt Isabelle and Carvajan's bailitf who knew of 
the generous sacrifice Antoinette had made to prevent part 
of the estate being sold. 

Old Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice,. who had peculiar 
ideas on every subject under the sun, managed to draw a 
consoling conclusion for her niece from the delay to which 
Croix-Mesnil had been forced to submit. 

“ After all, my dear, perhaps you are right not to marry 
this young dragoon too hastily. He cannot love you as you 
deserve to be loved ; he has been too calm and too proper 
considering how long he has been kept dancing attend- 
ance — he ought to have been ‘ fanatic,' instead of which 
you have seen how sweet and sugared he has been— just 
like a glass of syrup. Upon my word, I don't know what 
soldiers and lovers are made of nowadays." 

The marquis, whose thoughts never dwelt long on the 
same subject, had resumed the even tenor of his studies, but 
a suspicion still rested like a thorn in his heart, and every 
now and then he asked . 

“Well, my child, and how about Croix-Mesnil ? When 
are going to marry him ?" 

“ Oh, some time, papa," answered Antoinette. 

Every two or three months the baron spent a few days 
at the chateau, during which he went shooting with Rob- 
ert and riding with Antoinette, but he always went away 
again without having obtained a decisive answer. A 
great deal of gossip was indulged in about him in the 
neighborhood, and he was sarcastically spoken of as the 
Bridegroom of the Greek Kalends. 

“If he does not marry," whispered some, “it is because he 
can dispense with the ceremony. That sort of thing runs 
in the family. Everyone knows the way that old aunt 
used to carry on." 

Good heavens ! How insulted Mademoiselle de Saint- 


ANTOINETTE. 


63 


Maurice would have been if she had only got wind of 
these rumors, and how she would have boxed the ears of 
the calumniators. But the Clairefonts lived a very se- 
cluded life, and the slander died a natural death on the 
threshold of their silent, gloomy chateau. 

Carried away by her reminiscences, Antoinette had 
stopped a long while in front of the white slopes of the 
Great Marl-Pit. She had forgotten her strange meeting, 
the flight of time, everything, as she sat motionless, the 
reins hanging loosely on her horse's neck. At her feet 
lay the timber-work of the pits, disused and decaying ; 
the sheds stood open and deserted; the trucks rested idly 
on the rails which led to the fireless lime kilns. All the 
labor which for some years had been so feveiishly pushed 
on was at an end. The immense works which had been 
commenced had never been finished, and the heaps of 
chalky, useless earth which lay about were all there was 
to represent the fortune of the old house, the young girl's 
hopes of happiness, and the security of her father's old 
age. The past, the present and the future had been com- 
promised, and yet how often had Antoinette heard her 
father exclaim as he pointed to the hill : There lies the 

fortune of the family ! " 

Experiments and tests had been applied, which all ex- 
clusively proved that the lime at Clairefont could defy 
competition, and for several years the sale of it had been 
considerable. But the marquis had invented apparatus 
meant to be improvements on the old ones, had tried new 
methods of calcining, and had frittered away all the 
profits of the enterprise upon these experiments. There 
was always the same want of coherency in his ideas. It 
was the fool of the family, ruining himself in search of 
something better, when he held prosperity, easy and sure, 
within his hand. The evil genius of the inventor was al- 
ways urging him in quest of improvement, and conse- 
quently, instead of attaining pure and simple success by 
following the straight and ordinary road, he labored 
along steep and winding paths only to be rewarded with 
defeat and ruin. 

Still, in spite of the bitter disenchantment so many 
successive failures had caused her, a last hope still lin- 
gered in Antoinette's breast. She had a superstitious faith 
in her father, and she thought: “ Some day he will make 
an important discovery. And then the chalky blocks 
will turn to gold as in a marvellous fairy tale." 

The sound of the luncheon-bell ringing in the distance 
aroused her from her dreams, and, touching her steed with 


^4 


ANTOINETTE. 


the whip, she set at a gallop and soon found herself at 
the chateau gate. She threw aside her pensive air, and 
with a smile on her face, crossed the immense court-yard, 
sprang unaided to the ground, opened a stable door, and 
unbridling her horse, left it to go into its freshly-littered 
stall. Then drawing her long skirt over her arm she 
walked to the dining-room, followed by her dog. 

In the immense room, paved with red and white mar- 
ble, with a ceiling divided into panels on which were 
painted the family arms, and carved side-boards, on which 
stood some massive old silver, four persons were seated 
at a long table, waited on by an old servant. 

On Monsieur de Clairefont^s left was an empty place — 
that of the late-comer; on his right sat Mademoiselle de 
Saint-Maurice, upright as a grenadier, with her mottled 
face, while opposite were seated young Count Eobert and 
a man who was tall, sallow and very bald, with hairless 
face, and blinking eyes sheltered . by gold spectacles. 

“ Ah, here is my child, said the marquis in a tone of 
satisfaction. “ My dear, I was beginning to feel very 
uneasy about you. I have had the big bell rung three 
times to call you; have you been so very far?^^ 

I have been to La Saucelle, papa,^' answered Antoin- 
ette, kissing him. The farmer's children are ill, and I 
wanted to know how they were getting on. G-ood morn- 
ing auntie." 

G-ood morning, freshness. Come over to me — you 
smell of dew and flowers." 

^‘You ought to say that of yourself, auntie; you are 
Tadiant this morning." 

Oh, all right, flatterer," returned Mademoiselle de 
Saint-Maurice. “ I am radiant like a sunset." 

Antoinette went round the table giving a little affec- 
tionate tap on her brother's cheek as she passed, and, 
holding out her hand to the person beside him who had 
ceremoniously risen : 

I am very pleased to see you, Monsieur Malezeau," 
she said. I must ask you to excuse me — I did not know 
I was to have the pleasure of finding you here. Are 
'things going on well at the office ? And how is Madame 
Malezeau?" 

All are well, mademoiselle, both family and business, 
and let me assure you, mademoiselle, all at your service," 
replied the lawyer, who had an inveterate habit of punct- 
uating his sentences with a ‘^monsieur," ^‘madame," or 
^^mademoiselle," productive of the oddest effect. 

“ That's all right then," said the young girl, and cheer- 


ANTOINETTE. 


56 


fully seating herself beside her father ; 

Don^t bring anything back for me, Bernard, she said 
to the old butler. “ I will go on with lunch where it is — I 
am dying with hunger.'' 

So saying, she began to eat with a pretty animation and 
a youthful and robust appetite which was delightful to 
see. Her brother watched her for a moment; then, with 
an affectation of great solemnity : 

My sister, a word with you," he said. You tell us 
that you have just returned from La Saucelle, which is 
perfectly correct, for I saw you going along the plateau. 
But you have not told us that you had a companion." 

Antoinette turned very red^ and looked up quickly. 

‘‘ Come, Eobert, what is the meaning of this jest?" ex- 
claimed Aunt Isabelle. Do you mean that your sister 
rides along the roads with people you do not know ?" 

“ Oh, he is telling the truth," broke in Mademoiselle 
de Clairefont. “ I was accompanied this morning for 
more than half an hour by an utter stranger." 

^^Some beggar, who followed you to the chateau?" 

“No, he was quite the opposite of a beggar." 

“ You are exciting my curiosity," said the marquis with 
a smile. “ Was he then a millionaire ? " 

“No, but he has a good chance of being one some day, 
if I am to believe what I hear." 

“ Ah, you'll see just now that it was some robber who 
asked Antoinette for her money or her life." 

“ You are very near it, auntie. For, although he did 
not make that demand, he was the son of Monsieur 
Carvajan." 

Her word9 were followed by a silence. Never, for 
twenty years, had Carvajan's name been pronounced be- 
neath this roof, except as the forerunner of misfortune. 

A gloom crept over the marquis' face, and he bent his 
head as he said in a low tone : 

“ I had forgotten that Carvajan had a son." 

He glanced anxiously at Eobert and Antoinette as if 
he feared lest the hatred of the father, transmitted as an 
inheritance to the son, should press as heavily on his 
children as it had done on himself, and then he asked 
with uneasiness : 

“ But under what circumstances did this meeting take 
place ? Did this young man speak to you? " 

“ Yes^ papa, to ask me the way, and very respectfully." 

“ A good thing for him ! " muttered Eobert with flash- 
ing eyes. “ For if ho had not — " 

“ I did not know who he was, and I never thought of 


56 


ANTOINETTE. 


asking. A passer-by had asked me which was his road, 
and as it happened to be mine I offered to guide him. 
We both walked in silence, and it was only just as we 
were parting that he told me his name.^' 

‘‘ What is he like ? ” questioned Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice. Is he gentlemanly or not ? Has he the 
wolf-like jowl of Monsieur, his father 

“He has the manners of a well-bred man, and as for 
his face, it is not at all displeasing. But if you are 
anxious to hear any details about the heir of the house 
of Carvajan, no doubt Monsieur Mal6zeau can give you 
all the information you would like,'' added Antoinette. 

“ I, mademoiselle?" stammered the lawyer, laying his 
hands on his narrow chest in a gesture of protestation. 

“The mayor of La H euville is, I believe, also one of your 
clients, " put in Monsieur de Clairefont, mischievously. 

Oh, it's quite a different matter, sir, " exclaimed Male- 
zeau, whose eyes were twinkling nervously. “ With 
Monsieur Carvajan I have merely business relations, 
while to you, sir, and to your charming family, sir, I am 
attached by chains of the most respectful devotion" — 
“At any rate, Malezeau, you sometimes dine with the 
mayor, don't you ? " interrupted Eobert with a smile. 

Yery rarely, sir, " answered the lawyer, who seemed 
to be on thorns. “ As rarely as possible. But you know 
what provincial towns are, sir. Anyone in my position 
is forced to be polite to many people he does not really 
esteem, sir, or he would not be able to follow his profes- 
sion, sir. Times are hard — Monsieur Carvajan, with his 
bank puts a good deal of business in my way, sir — busi- 
ness which I cannot afford to lose. But I assure you there 
is no intimacy between him and me — none whatever ! " 

“ Come, don't act the Jesuit, Maleezeau!" cried Aunt 
Isabelle abruptly and scornfully. “ Have we ever re- 
proached you* for being friendly with that man ? Are we 
the people to set anyone against him? Have we ever re- 
plied to his injuries with anything but scorn ? " 

“ Perhaps, mademoiselle, that was not the best return 
you could have made, murmured the lawyer, glancing 
uneasily around him. “A little resistance would have 
made him reflect, mademoiselle. You have made his task 
too easy for him. One should never disdain one's enemy. " 

“ Would you have us to do such a wretch as that the 
honor of bestowing any attention upon him?" returned 
Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice fiercely. “ It needs an ut- 
terly absurd regime like the one we are now under for 
such creatures to be of any account. Here's this Carvajan 


ANTOINETTE. 57 . 

mayor ! In bygone times be wouldn't have been made a. 
rural policeman ! And as for his son — " 

Oh, his son, mademoiselle, has not much cause to be 
fond of him. And he left the country because he did not 
regard things in the same light as his father — " 

Showed his good taste, " put in Eobert. 

He has travelled a great deal, sir," went on the law- 
yer. “ He was clever or lucky enough, whichever way 
you choose to put it, to get into the good graces of a pov/- 
erful financier, who made him his representative, sir. He 
was given the arrangement of some very delicate matters 
in America, sir, which he has brought to a most success- 
ful termination. He is said to be gifted with great elo- 
quence, sir. After he left college he learned English and 
Spanish, and it appears that he. has spoken in Australia 
and Peru, in English and Peruvian law-courts, and met 
with enormous success. He has seen and learned a great 
deal, improving himself as he travelled, in spite, sir, of 
the proverb which says: ‘A rolling stone gathers no 
moss.' In a word, he is quite independent, and in my 
opinion, sir, he will not stay long at La Heuville, sir, for 
he will get on no better now with Monsieur Carvajan 
than he did before." 

Then he will be like everybody else, for this scoun- 
drel of a man will spare no one," said the marquis. 

For a moment he paused, then he added sadly : 

“ It is strange that this Carvajan who has wrung money 
from high and low alike, should be respected, and that I, 
who have never done anything but help people, should 
be held in such low esteem." 

People do not respect Monsieur Carvajan, sir," an- 
swered Malezeau, ‘Hhey fear him, whmh is a very differ- 
ent thing. He has a hold over everyone, and those who 
might try to resist him, sir, know that the attempt would 
cost them dear." 

Monsieur Clairefont did not reply. Carvajan's sombre 
figure leaning against the little door of Gatelier's shop with 
his eyes full of jealous hatred returned to his memory, and 
all the disastrous consequences of the antagonism which 
dated from that day came back to his mind. The disaf- 
fection of his household, the constant hostility of the 
peasants, the ill-will of the authorities, and now everyone 
avoiding him as if he were a leper. He, the former mas- 
ter of the province, had been made a pariah by this up- 
start, and the work of revenge, commenced twenty years 
ago, was now very nearly completed. There remained 
but the merest vestiges of his fortune and his influence. 


58 


ANTOINETTE, 


and the author of his misfortunes stood triumphant oh 
the ruins of the edifice he had so skilfully undermined, 
with a cynical sneer on his face. Yes, it did indeed 
cost those dear who attempted to resist him, as no one 
knew better than Honore, and it was with anguish that 
the old man asked himself of what else his implacable 
enemy was going to deprive him. 

Was he about to attack him through his honor? And 
yet on that point Honore believed himself invulnerable. 
The ruin of nis fortune might indeed be hastened by 
secret manoeuvers, but to succeed in casting a slur upon 
his name seemed to him impossible. Would he not 
eventually retrieve himself? One single invention, 
carried to a practical result, was all that was needed, 
and he had just discovered a furnace which was to effect 
an enormous saving of fuel in factories and places where 
large fires were needed. It would bring him in a vast 
income, gathered from all quarters of the globe, and at 
last he would reap, after passing all his life in sowing. 
Those who looked upon him as a monomaniac would be 
dumb with amazement — his sister-in-law, who did not 
believe in his inventions, to begin with. And what would 
become of Carvajan^s underhand plans and petty snares? 
His nets would not be strong enough to hold the prey 
he longed for. He would be crushed, annihilated, 
swept aside, and the difference would be seen between the 
low intriguer with his narrow-minded, commonplace ideas 
and the scholar with his powerful, fruitful conceptions. 

Becoming cheered at the thought of this long-hoped 
success, the marquis smiled again, his face cleared, he 
rubbed his hands together gleefully and exclaimed : 

Ah, we shall see, we shall seel Come, my friends, 
it’s not all over with me yet ! ” 

Then perceiving that the others were gazing at him in 
surprise, he returned to his thoughts, again going over, 
link by link, the chain of ideas which had led him from 
a gloomy departure to so victorious a conclusion. This 
time he saw that he was discounting his success, and that 
for the time being he had far more cause for fear than 
hope. He rose, and taking his daughter’s arm : 

‘‘Let us take our coffee outside,” he said. 

And they all went down the flight of steps and seated 
themselves beneath a leafy arbor by the stone balustrade 
of the terrace. 

Old Bernard, brought a tray with cups of old Saxe 
china and a chased silver coffee-pot bearing the arms of 
Prance. Antoinette slowly rose and commenced to busy 


ANTOINETTE. 


59 

he^elf with the porcelain and silver, with the dainty 
smiling grace which gives an additional savor to the 
delicacies served by a woman's hand. 

May I give you some coffee, Monsieur Malezeau ? " 

And the sugar, deftly seized with the tongs, was dropped 
into the cup whence arose a hot, aromatic vapor. The 
liquors were under Aunt Isabelle's care, and it was with 
the air of a gendarme that she marshalled her decanters. 

A glass of ktimmel. Monsieur Malezeau ? 

Thank you, mademoiselle, but if you will allow me, I 
will take some fine champagne. An old habit, madam- 
oiselle, but I do not care for all the new liquors. " 

‘^As you choose! We don't invite you to lunch to 
make you eat and drink what you don't like. As for 
you, Eobert, I sha'n't offer you anything. You want to 
learn moderation, " and she bestowed a meaning glance 
upon her nephew. 

But the young man adroitly captured the decanter, and, 
retreating a few steps : 

What, aunt, do you mean to try and wean me ? " he 
said. I'm too old now. " 

Well, only one glass, you bad boy. " 

Only one tiny one ! " And pouring the coffee out of 
his cup, he filled it to the brim with the liquor. 

In the free life he led of a country gentleman, Eobert 
had acquired violent habits and appetites which now it 
was very difficult for him to resist. His athletic temper- 
ament allowed him to indulge with impunity in the ex- 
cesses which follow a hunting-dinner, when, fatigued by 
the day's run, men sit round the table long into the even- 
ing, drinking and smoking. The young count was 
known as the deepest drinker in the province — a fame of 
which he was exceedingly proud — and in the excitement 
of a debauch he had accepted many absurd wagers, as, for 
instance, to drink a stated number of cups of what is 
called ^‘four-colored coffee," a terrible mixture of brandy, 
chartreuse, kirsch and absinthe, calculated to turn the 
strongest brain. 

But his head and stomach alike withstood these tests, 
and he felt a silly pride when anyone said to him; 
“ Clairefont, you could stand any amount of drink. " It 
was the glory of this broad-shouldered fellow to be able 
to hold his own against all drunkards in the department. 

He had commenced to drink from ostentation, and 
gradually the habit had grown on him, and he became 
fond of it. On Sundays he was not above going to Pour- 
tois^ inn where he played bowls and hob-nobbed with the 


60 


ANTOINETTE. 


young men of the town. People did not treat him, as 
they had treated his father, when he was young, with re- 
spectful awe; but then what a diiference there was between 
this gigantic, florid, noisy, familiarity-inviting Clairefont 
and the little, thin, correct, exquisitely polite Clairefont, 
who knew so well how to keep people at a distance ! They 
were as opposite as day and night, and often people won- 
dered by what miracle of nature this son had been born 
of such a father. 

At first, EoberPs intemperate habits had given his father 
great uneasiness, and he descended from the clouds of his 
scientific inventions to gravely consider this exceedingly 
terrestrial question. He severely reprimanded his son, 
but he found that he had reckoned without Aunt Isabelle, 
who came at once to the rescue. 

The old scold managed to find divers arguments to pal- 
liate her nephew^s misconduct. What! all this fuss about 
a few bumpers of wine! Their ancestors had drunk a 
good deal harder, and had the marquis forgotten the 
Clairefont who in the time of Louis XIII. had outdone 
Bassompierre by drinking his two jack-boots full of wine? 
And did the roues of the Eegency stint themselves at the 
Palais-Eoy al parties ? And a whole series of historical hons 
vivants, drinking-cup, goblet or glass in hand, was made to 
pass before the eyes of the marquis, protesting against his 
strait-lacedness and proclaiming the aristocratic sover- 
eignty of the table. Besides, after all, the boy was young, 
and if he did amuse himself a little with his friends, where 
was the harm ? He must be allowed to sow his wild oats. 

^‘He is welcome to sow them, but he neednT drown 
them," said Honore. 

Eh, my dear brother, your son is not a delicate, weakly 
man like you! " cried Aunt Isabelle. He's a ^ Golius.' " 

The marquis spoke very seriously to Eobert, who 
promised to be more sober. But the habit was too strong 
for him, and as soon as he found himself seated before 
some old bottles with some fellow-sportsmen, he laughed, 
became excited, and forgot all his good resolutions. 

The most serious feature in the case was that, harmless 
as a lamb under ordinary circumstances, he became dan- 
gerous as a wolf when the least intoxicated, and prudent 
people kept well out of his reach at such times. The previ- 
ous year there had been a very disagreeable episode. After 
a dinner at the opening of the shooting season, at which 
the exploits of all the sportsmen present had been copiously 
toasted, he had half killed a stableman who had by mis- 
take harnessed'another guesPs horse to his gig. The man 


ANTOINETTE. 


61 


had been confined to his bed for six weeks, and the count, 
in his bitter regret, had solemnly vowed to himself to 
avoid all parties where there was any danger of tempta- 
tion. For a year now he had kept his vow, and Aunt Isa- 
belle, as proud of her nephew's good conduct as she had 
been indulgent to his follies, helped him by continual ex- 
hortations to persevere in his praiseworthy course. 

The old maid, who simply idolized the only male off- 
shoot of the noble house, would have turned the world 
upside down for Eobert's sake. As she watched him now 
tapping his spoon on the sugar which refused to melt in 
the brandy, she was all the time admiring his muscular 
beauty. His shoulders were broad, his waist slender, his 
powerful arms were terminated by small hands, while 
two clear blue eyes shone out of his manly face, which 
was tanned and reddened by the open air. His hair and 
eyebrows were dark chestnut color, while his moustache 
was very fair, a contrast which gave a singular expression 
of gentleness to his face. 

His sister formed the most complete contrast to him. 
In her, all was delicacy and grace, and the two races 
which were incarnated in the pair, were very clearly de- 
fined. The brother was a huge Saint-Maurice, with gross 
material tastes. The sister was a- Clairefont, delicate, 
dreamy, and slightly fanciful, which, perhaps, was the 
reason why she was so devoted to her father. 

For the last few moments the lawyer had been walking 
up and down with evident impatience, scrunching the 
gravel beneath his feet, and wandering from the arbor to 
the edge of the terrace and back again in an agitated, 
nervous way, as if he longed to plunge into a matter of 
some difficulty and yet had mot the courage. 

The marquis was apparently absorbed in a pleasant 
vision as he sat with a smile on his face abstractedly 
beating a march on the stone table before him. In what 
happy memories and what bright hopes was the old man 
lost ? To what ethereal sphere, to what celestial land, had 
he been transported by a dream ? 

He made an abrupt gesture, and struck his hand upon 
his knee, while his cheeks flushed with a happy glow : 

My furnace with its circulating currents of air will 
save eighty per cent, of the amount of fuel used in other 
furnaces 1" he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘^And it will 
consume all the waste material and all the substances 
hitherto considered as useless. Ah, ah, Malezeau, we'll 
see what you'll have to say about it ! There's a mine of 
wealth in it I ” ^ 


62 


ANTOINETTE. 


Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice^s face darkened : folding 
her arms, she strode towards the marquis like a dragoon : 

Brother,^' she said, this is the tenth time within a 
few years that yon have discovered a mine.^' 

Oh, but this time, it is really true,” replied the inven- 
tor eagerly. The discovery I have made meets a great 
and long-felt want. All factories are handicapped by the 
increasing price of fuel, and with my system coal becomes, , 
if not needless, at any rate of very minor importance. 
Shavings, wet straw, sugar-canes can all be burnt in my 
furnace, and the importance of that is evident, for general 
industries will be no longer endangered or injured by 
the flooding of a coal mine. As soon as I have taken out 
my patent, I shall have all the large factories in the world 
anxious to do business with me. It is a certain and im- 
mense source of income, I tell you, and so sure am I of 
its success that I would risk my name on the enterprise.” 

“ A gentleman has no right to barter his name, brother,” 
broke in his old sister-in-law, sharply. 

That is true,” replied the marquis gravely. The 
name I bear belongs to all those who have borne it before 
me, and I ought to bequeath it unstained to those after 
me. But its dignity would not be lessened if I added to 
it the honor of so grand an industrial victory.” 

You know what I think of your researches. A man 
like you has nothing to gain, but all to lose by such 
things, which are only fit for workmen.” 

‘‘But King Louis XYI. was a good locksmith,” inter- 
posed the marquis with a smile. 

“ Well, and you see how much good it did him ! ” cried 
Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice triumphantly. 

“ I hope you doAt think I shall end on the scaffold ? ” 

“ Ko, but you’ll die on a dung-hill ! ” 

Antoinette had gradually drawn nearer, and now she 
gently put her arm round Aunt Isabelle’s neck. 

“ There, auntie, don’t be unkind,” she whispered ; 

“ humor papa a little.” 

“ Oh, I dare say, you coaxer,” said the old maid, whose 
beard was bristling with excitement, it’s you who are 
half to blame for your father’s follies; for instead of 
pointing out his foolishness to him you encourage him in 
it, and all I can do is to tell him that we shall see him 
as poor as ‘Jacob.’ Well, do as you like, brother,” she 
added, turning to the marquis. “ But here’s Monsieur 
Malezeau wanting to talk to you on business. Listen to 
what he has to say, and try and profit by his advice.” 

At the word “ business ” Eobert had taken a step in the 


ANTOINETTE. 


ea 

direction of the house, while the marquis gave his lawyer 
a look full of smiling serenity, and. taking his daughter’s, 
arm with caressing indolence, he said : 

“ Well, Malezeau, I am at your service. Would you 
like us to go indoors ? ” 

I should certainly prefer it, sir. I have certain ac- 
counts to submit, sir, which will need your closest 
attention.” 

Then, we will go to my study,” answered Monsieur de 
Clairefont, and I will show you the model of my furnace^ 
Malezeau. You will see how simple it is, but the idea 
was everything. An idea may be everything, or it may 
be nothing. Aunt Isabelle.” 

“ Oh, all right,” growled the old maid. It isn’t ideas 
that you want, only as a rule they are so queer and ab- 
surd that no one can make anything out of them.” 

She crossed over to the lawyer, who was following Mon- 
sieur and Mademoiselle de Clairefont. 

^^Is it anything very serious, Malezeau?” she asked 
with an inward agitation that made her loud, hearty voice 
tremble. It is a long while since we last saw you, and 
there must be something serious the matter to make yon 
come without being summoned.” 

The lawyer bent his head in token of assent. 

Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice shuddered. For several 
years she had been accustomed to the remonstrances that 
the lawyer periodically addressed to his noble client, and 
each time that Malezeau had come to Clairefont, the fam- 
ily possessions had been diminished by a few acres of land 
or some of'the woods. To-day all was mortgaged. The 
estate was giving way beneath the burden of interests 
that must be paid — let the weight receive but the smallest 
addition, and it would crumble to ruins. 

For heaven’s sake, don’t advance him any more,” said 
Aunt Isabelle. He is bound up in his new scheme, and 
he will be sure to ask you for money. Eesist his entreat- 
ies — look upon it as a matter of conscience. Honord is 
simply a ^ prodigious ’ son, Malezeau. Ah, how willingly 
would we kill the fatted calf if he would only give up his 
mad ideas ! ” 

^^You may depend on me, mademoiselle. I am deter- 
mined to be very firm, mademoiselle, as you will see.” 

Arrived at the top of the steps, the marquis turned 
round. Before him stretched the quiet, smiling valley, 
bathed in light; between the verdant meadows flowed the 
silvery river, bordered on either side by thick and stunted 
willows, while the slates and tiles of the houses shone in 


64 


ANTOINETTE. 


the sun amidst the dark foliage of the trees. For a mo- 
ment the old man leaned on the iron rail contemplating 
the peaceful picture. Ardently he inhaled the pure air 
until his lungs were filled with it. The tears sprang to 
his eyes, and he whispered to himself: 

Peace and quiet amidst this beautiful country — the 
calm joy of a life spent in the bosom of my family — per- 
haps that would have been true happiness after all. But 
each one must fulfill his destiny.^^ 

He shook his head, and noticing that the lawyer had 
lingered to talk to Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice : 

Malezeau," he called, ^‘lam ready when you are.^^ 
And he went into the drawing-room. 

Robert strode along towards the left wing, where there 
was a staircase in one of the pointed towers which flanked 
the main body of the house, leading to his rooms. Gayly 
whistling a hunting song, he walked down the long pas- 
sage on which the household offices opened, and passed 
the immense kitchen with its huge chimney-piece, where 
there was a spit so long that a calf could have been 
roasted whole on it. The young man gave a friendly greet- 
ing to the servant, and, turning to the right, was just 
about to mount the stone stairs, when the sound of bursts 
of laughter mingled with the dull thud of regular blows 
attracted his attention. 

He went a few steps farther on, and pausing at a door 
which stood ajar, he saw beside a window, on which was 
perched the red-haired shepherd boy, Rose Chassevant 
ironing. The thud was caused by her iron which every 
now and then she rested on a thickly-folded blanket 
scorched and burnt all over, and as she talked to her 
wild companion she went on just as quickly with her work. 

The poachePs daughter looked charming, and as Bous- 
sot sat, with his knees drawn up to his chin and his eyes 
fixed on Bose with admiring covetousness, he seemed like a 
crouching wolf on the point of springing upon his victim. 
From time to time he uttered a hoarse exclamation, but 
never pronouncing a word except when he was absolutely 
forced to do so, as if his muteness were rather the result 
of indolence than infirmity. Bose had ceased her laugh- 
ter, and now she was talking to him with the suspicion of 
a Hormandy accent in her tones, which gave such piquancy 
to her utterances. 

No, Boussbt, you are not tidy enough in your per- 
•son, she said. Look — your trousers are all torn and 
your shirt is gray with dust. Besides, you smell of your 
sheep, and it isn't nice for a girl. " 


ANTOINETTE. 


65 


The shepherd gave vent to a growl, his little, crafty 
eyes flashed, and apparently making a tremendous efi“ort, 
he articulated : 

Handsome at the fair. 

‘‘Ah, you are preparing a surprise, are you ? ” cried the 
girl, pushing her hot iron rapidly over the hem. “ Well, 
if only you make yourself presentable, I will dance with 
you, like I do with the others. ” 

Koussot made no answer, and his lips contracted vi- 
ciously. For a few seconds there was an expression of 
horrible bestiality on his face, then he burst into a laugh 
which was broken and jerky as if he had hiccoughs. 

“ Ah, thaFs pleased you, hasn’t it, my lad said Rose. 
“ But it’s no reason why you should sit on that window 
all day doing nothing. It would be as well for you to go 
and look after your sheep, for if you were caught here — ” 

Robert’s appearance prevented the ending of her sen- 
/tence. The shepherd gave a shrill whistle, unfolded his 
legs like two springs, with the adroitness of a monkey, 
and leaping out of the window, turned in the direction of 
the stables. 

“Now, I’ve caught you chatting with your sweet- 
heart,” said the count, seating himself on the end of the 
ironing-board. “You needn’t be so proud with me when 
you are so good-natured to the ugliest farm lad.” 

“ Now, Monsieur Robert,” said Rose coquettishly, “ have 
you come to the laundry to make a scene ?” 

- “ Good gracious, no I I was going upstairs to my own 

room when I heard you talking to that young vagabond; 
but I will not have disturbed you for nothing,” and so 
saying, he stretched out his arm, caught the girl round the 
waist and dropped a kiss upon her snowy neck. 

“ I did not ask you for that,” said the pretty laundress, 
rearranging her kerchief. “ If you kiss the daughter, you 
shouldn’t be so hard on the father. What have I just 
heard about you and poor Chassevent?” 

“Look here. Rose,” he answered, “if you want us to 
keep good friends, don’t talk to me about that scoundrel.” 

“ And don’t you come talking to me, if you treat him 
as you do !” exclaimed Rose, with crimsoning cheeks. 

“ Come, come, don’t be naughty,” said the count, edg- 
ing nearer to her; and taking her arm he began gently 
caressing it. Rose still continued to pout and kept her 
eyes obstinately fixed upon her work, but a smile began 
to hover round her lips. Her fair, flufly hair curled up- 
wards from her pretty neck, and inside the loose collar a 
glimpse could be caught of the curve of her shoulders, 


66 ANTOINETTE. 

with the skin as velvety as a ripe peach. ^ 

‘‘And if you liked, how well everything could be ar- 
ranged she said, suddenly raising her eyes to Robert. 
“ Father loves the woods and is mad over game — why 
don’t you take him as keeper? Then he’d give over snar- 
ing your hares, and you’ve enough rabbits to keep him 
without missing any. The old house at La Saucelle is 
empty, and I could go and live there with him. It would be 
handier for me to come here of a day, and I can’t tell you 
how pleased it would make me !” 

The count’s lip approached Rose’s cheek without en- 
countering any resistance this time, and brushing her lit- 
tle mouth with his long moustache, he answered ; 

“ That isn’t a bad idea of yours, and it could all be 
easily managed, if that old vagabond Chassevent wasn’t 
the most determined rogue within ten miles. But my pre- 
serves would be well kept by him who is the boon com- 
panion of all the poachers in the parish ! No, no, my dear, 
I can’t provide your father with a dwelling, unless it is 
the cell of a prison, which would be to your advantage; 
for there he wouldn’t be able to take your money or 
knock you about.” 

“ Is that what you think ?” exclaimed Rose, furiously 
tearing herself from the young man’s embrace. “ Well, 
then, I forbid you to come near me, and if you dare to 
touch as much as a fold of my dress. I’ll tell Mademoiselle 
Antoinette about you — there now !” 

“ Bravo, my pet! Virtue makes you prettier than ever; 
you must persevere with it,” said Robert, laughing. “ See, 
look at your red-haired lover watching you over there.” 

Consumed with eager, jealous curiosity, Roussot was 
slouching about the yard, his piercing eyes fixed on the 
laundry window, and the sharp, crafty expression on his 
face just then, would have very much surprised the people 
who looked upon him as an idiot. Seeing that he was 
observed, he turned away, put on a look of stupidity, and 
began to crack his whip as loudly as he could, as was his 
usual way of amusing himself. 

“Roussot is a poor lad who would not hurt a fly and 
for whom I am very sorry,” said Rose sharply. “ It is 
wrong of you to laugh at him. Monsieur Robert. He was 
taken into your father’s household when he was found 
deserted on the roadside, and he and I have grown up to- 
gether since we were children. He wouldn’t say anything 
bad about my father, I’m sure.” 

“ Well, there, let’s make it up,” responded Robert, 
gently pinching and pulling her sun-burnt ear. “ We’ll 


ANTOINETTE. 


67 


see if something can't be done to please you without in- 
juring the preserves." 

The girl s face brightened, her lips curved in a smile, 
and offering her cheek to the young man with coaxing 
coquettishness, she said : 

“ Oh, you can be so nice when you like." 

He caught her in his arms and kissed her eagerly, but 
she freed herself with a cry^ and turning rather pale; 

Ah, you hurt me," she said. Do not squeeze me so- 
tightly ; you are so strong, and you could stifle me with- 
out ever meaning to." 

And that would be a thousand pities," put in a deep 
voice. 

Robert turned round angrily to see Tondeur's red and 
grinning face at the window. 

“Your servant, Monsieur Robert," said the merry old 
fellow. By jingo, you know what's good ! " And he 
went off into a hearty laugh which made his face turn 
violet. 

What do you want here ? " asked the count, roughly. 

Something which concerns you more than it does me, 
Monsieur Robert. As I was going round the clearings 
just now, I found a nest of musket-hawks, and I came 
straight away to tell you." 

Thanks, very much," said Robert., altering his tone. 

Just wait for me, will you, while I get my gun." 

^^Mind you don't forget what you have promised me," 
cried Rose after him, noisily moving her irons. 

We'll see about it ! Wait for me, Tondeur." 

And the young count ran lightly up the staircase. 

‘^Whathas he promised you, Rosie?" asked the tim- 
ber merchant, leaning his great hairy hands on the win- 
dow-sill. To marry you ? " 

You old stupid ! " returned the pretty laundress. 

Oh, there's Monsieur Mal6zeau just going out — go and 
ask him if he has been told to draw up the wedding-con- 
tract yet." 

The lawyer was walking across the court-yard, accom- 
panied by the marquis who was talking with a great deal 
of animation. 

^‘Yes, for fifty thousand francs I could take out the 
patent, and then I could make known my discovery and 
realize enormous profits. Do you hear, Malezeau ? " 

“I hear, and 1 understand, sir; it is all very clear, sir. 
But where are you to get these fifty thousand francs ; 
since, sir, you run the risk of being turned out ofiyour 
house, if, sir, you do not pay a debt of a hundred and 


68 ANTOINETTE. 

sixty-three thousand francs next week.^^ 

Where shall I get them from ? Why from you, my 
dear fellow. You surely will not let me lose so much for 
the sake of so small a sum as that ! Fifty thousand 
francs ! And it means wealth. Come, lend it to me.'^ 

I have no money of my own, sir, and as for that of my 
clients, honor as well as the law forbids mo to dispose of 
it. Take my advice— give up the immediate realization 
of your plans, and turn all your energies to finding a 
means of escape from the position in which you are 
placed. Believe me,Jt is very serious — 

Oh, ril get out of it, Til answer for that; hut it wonH 
be by economizing— it will be by my invention which 
will save us all. I must have fifty thousand francs — on a 
second mortgage — eh ? ” 

“ You will not obtain the sum, sir. Your credit in the 
province is exhausted, and if I had not arranged every- 
thing for you up to now, you would not have been able to 
borrow a halfpenny for a long time past, sir.^^ 

‘‘ Oh, well, I expect my future son-in-law this evening, 
and I will ask him to lend me the money.'' 

For a moment Malezeau hesitated, then said ; 

If you do, sir, he will go away never to return, sir. 
Will you yourself furnish him with a pretext for break- 
ing off this marriage which has been delayed solong ? " 

What are you talking about, Malezeau? Do you for 
an instant suppose that Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil is not 
disposed to fulfill his engagement ? If thought that to 
be the case, I should be far from regretting my daughter's 
hesitation to marry him, and besides, when I am in a 
position to give her a princely dowry — as I shall be^ — 
she will not want for suitors. Well, since I find you so 
determined, I must turn out all my pockets and try to 
manage without your help. All I ask you to do is to try 
and temporize. See my creditors — " 

Sir," interposed the attorney, ‘‘ you have but one." 

^ <^Ah ? " said Monsieur de Clairefont, and all the anima- 
tion died out of his face and voice. ‘‘And," he added 
with painful anxiety, “ this one creditor is — " - 

“ Carvajan," said the attorney, bending his head des- 
pondingly. 

“ Has he then paid off all the others ? " 

“ Yes., sir, he has quietly bought up every one of your 
bills and promissory notes. He wished you to have no 
one but himself to deal with, sir." 

All the inventor's illusions were dissipated in an in- 
stant. His heart turned cold ; there came a singing in 


ANTOINETTE. 69 

his ears and a darkness before his eyes, as if the sky had 
suddenly turned black. 

His son's voice recalled him to himself. The young 
man was going out, his gun on his shoulder, accompanied 
by his sister, and both were bright and joyous in the 
careless, happy fashion of youth. Antoinette cried out : 

Will you come with us, papa ? We are going to the 
clearing with Monsieur Tondeur." 

No, my dear, I must go in and work.” 

He watched them go with a look of tender sadness in 
his eyes, and noted with fond pride the easy, upright car- 
riage and broad shoulders of his son, and the graceful, 
elegant outlines of his daughter. Would he not rather 
fight for their present and their future ? 

The blood rushed to his brain. He was endowed 
with fresh energy, he felt capable of performing marvels, 
but, unhappily, it was in his hazardous speculations that 
he sought salvation, and when he had yet the chance, 
with patient and strict economy, of righting himself and 
overcoming his financial difficulties, he prepared to de- 
scend still lower into the gulf which was slowly and sure- 
ly swallowing up his fortune. 

Only get Carvaj an to give me time,” he said to the 
lawyer, and all will be right. You see these turrets 
and these roofs? Well, before long I shall be able to 
cover them with gold if the fancy takes me.” 

He began to laugh and nod his white head, and, with a 
eresture of farewell to Malezeau, he returned to his labora- 
tory, 

CHAPTEE lY. 

It had not been without a feeling of deep emotion that 
Pascal had seen La Neuville once again. He had left it 
little more than a child, and he returned a man. During 
the long hours of his lonely life abroad, he bad often 
turned his thoughts to the causes which had led to his de- 
parture, and not once had he been troubled by a regret. 
He had done what he had ought to have done. Forced 
by circumstances to judge and condemn his father, he 
lied as though to punish himself for his want of respect. 
Absence and time stretched a veil between his memory 
and Carvajan's terrible face, until at last its features ap- 
peared to him with their hardness softened or effaced. 

During these years of exile which he passed alone 
amidst the crowded cities of foreign lands, he had grown 
passionately fond of his distant country and his forsaken 


70 


ANTOINETTE. 


home. He had written regularly to his father telling him 
of his work and his hopes, and Carvajan, with the ex- 
actitude of a man accustomed to trade, had sent him short, 
cold, concise answers which were simply business letters 
with hardly a word of affection dropped in at the end. 
Always sound, practical advice, given with marvellous in- 
tuition of his soAs position, but never a word which could 
be construed into an allusion to the past or a hint about the 
future. Never, in a moment of loneliness or melancholy, 
had Carvajan given way to the instinctive longing of old 
age for help and support, and written to his son : Come 
back."^ His rough, proud obstinacy was strongly be- 
trayed in his dealing with Pascal. The latter had wished 
to go, had withdrawn himself from all paternal authority, 
and he could make what use ho liked of his liberty with 
perfect unrestraint. 

But when the day came when, tired of wandering over 
the world and having finished the work he had under- 
taken, the young man sent word to announce his speedy 
return, he received from his father in reply a note short 
as usual, but which gave evidence of an unexpected satis- 
faction. It touched Pascal deeply. Ho rejoiced to think 
that the old man was glad to see his son again, and that 
his cold, hard heart was softened by a faint ray of joy. 

Thus Pascal set off with twofold delight — that of re- 
turning to his native land and that of finding his father 
gentler and more kind. Accustomed as he was to jour- 
neys of several weeks' duration and the slow means of 
conveyance in countries that were hardly yet civilized, 
the short crossing from America to France seemed long 
to him, and the railway journey interminable. He was 
in such a fever of impatience that he hardly gave himself 
time to deliver his reports to the firm in Paris before he 
set out for La Neuville, where he arrived in the evening. 

His heart beat fast as he got out of the train, and he 
walked along the platform in an agitation he vainly at. 
tempted to repress. His eyes, dimmed by tears, did not 
see at first a little man who was waiting, upright and stiff, 
just outside the railway station, but suddenly there were 
two simultaneous exclamations. 

“ Pascal I” 

Father!’' And they fell in each other's arms. 

The mayor of La Neuville, quickly recovering from 
his emotion, gave some brief orders to the porters about 
the luggage, which was to be taken to the Eue du Marche; 
then, slipping his hand beneath his son's arm, led him 
through the town, absently acknowledging the greetings 


ANTOINETTE. 


71 


ho received from passers-by, hastening his steps to avoid 
the importunate and keeping up a continuous flow of 
questions about the business-matters entrusted to Pascal’s 
care, eagerly anxious as to the results, indifferent to the 
means employed to obtain those results. 

They dined and passed the evening tete-a-tete^ Carvajan 
watching the young man and finding a strange pleasure 
in listening to the deep voice which touched a chord in 
the old man’s heart that he had never felt vibrate before. 
He admired his son, he thought him clever, brilliant, su- 
perior, and when Pascal told him that he had come back 
with six hundred thousand trancs, the amount for which 
he had sold his share in the transactions he had brought 
to so successful a termination, the banker uttered a cry 
of joy. But almost immediately his face darkened, his 
tone became cold, his gestures lost their animation, for 
the thought flashed through his brain : Rich, my son 

can do without me. I shall have no hold over him.” 

Carvajan was essentially a man to rule, and for him to 
take an interest in anyone it was necessary for that per- 
son to be dependent on him. 

What is this strange impression he is producing upon 
me ?” thought the banker. There is some irresistible 
power in his speech, and as I listen to him I find it diffi- 
cult not to agree with all his opinions. Shall I — but it is 
Only a momentary effect, it will pass away in a few days.” 

The traveller was tired, and it was at an early hour 
that he rose to seek his room. His father himself led the 
way to the first story, along the dark passages and nar- 
row staircase of the little house, pausing at last before a 
door which Pascal recognized as his mother’s room. 

I thought you would be more comfortable here than 
in the room you used to have,” he said. 

More comfortable I Was that all that he had thought 
of when he prepared for his son his mother’s room ? He 
had not foreseen the tender melancholy which would 
inevitably steal over Pascal. 

Pascal was up and dressed by an early hour the follow- 
ing mqrning, but his father had risen still earlier, and 
had already left the house to see to some business mat- 
ters. His absence was somewhat of a relief to the young 
man, who longed to visit every nook and cranny of the 
house where his childhood had been passed. 

Slowly he went downstairs. On the staircase he met a 
servant at whom he cast a careless glance, only to be 
surprised at her beauty. She was a girl of about twenty, 
with dark hair, a fair complexion and blue eyes, and 


72 


ANTOINETTE. 


there was something coquettish about her dress. She 
was carrying up a large copper jug of water, and she 
greeted him with a smile. 

Perhaps you are looking for your father, Monsieur 
Pascal/^ she said. “He went out soon after daybreak 
to go to his farm at La Moncelle, and he wonH be back 
before twelve o’clock, so if you would like to go for a 
little walk, you have plenty of time, and it will give you 
an appetite.” 

Pascal turned out of the house, into the fresh cool air, 
where the swallows were chasing each other high up 
towards the blue sky. He walked up to Couvrechamps, 
wandered along the leafy paths, and lost himself in the 
meadows, inhaling with delight the strong odors of his 
native soil, dazzled by the sun, intoxicated by the per- 
fumes borne to him on the breeze, and unconscious of the 
fate which was leading him to theshady lane along which 
the beautiful horsewoman was riding, dreamy and alone 

And thus it happened that he, who the day before had 
been heart-whole and filled with but the one desire to for- 
get the past and to accommodate himself to the present 
by closing his eyes to everything he must otherwise 
condemn, found himself in an instant placed in a position 
where he would be forced to face such a tempest ,as he 
had never faced before. An unknown power swept down 
and took possession of him, subjugating him and making 
him its slave j and so for a second time he found himself 
opposed to his father. 

He had heard truly when he was told that he had come 
in time to see the battle at its height. Clairefont was 
pitted against Carvajan, and the duel, commenced thirty 
years before, had reached the stage when one or the 
other of the combatants must fall. Pascal knew now all 
the details of what had taken place between his father 
and the marquis, for Fleury had told him the whole story 
as they walked down the hill-side together. He was able 
to fill up the gaps in the narrative by the aid of his own 
recollections, and many details which had impressed him as 
a child, and which he had not then understood, became 
clear to him now. He saw Carvajan and Clairefont en- 
gaged in an implacable warfare like a modern Montagu 
and Capulet, though the means they employed were dif- 
ferent as were the time, the country and the customs. It 
was 1880, and at La Heuville, instead of 1300, and Verona. 
The weapons were no longer the sword and the dagger, 
but the equally terrible one, money. There was no blood 
drawn — blood which would spurt forth and be seen, but 


ANTOINETTE. 


7a 


honor was assailed, and reputation injured by stabs in 
the dark. It was not an open, stirring, declared hostility,, 
but a dull, patient, hypocritical struggle, more dangerous 
and more bitter than a brave hand-to-hand encounter. 

Pascal reckoned up the opposing torces and saw that 
they were very unequal. On the one side there was the 
marquis, a tender-hearted, weak-minded old man, unable 
to calculate or foresee, tossed hither and thither by his 
Utopian schemes and continually sacrificing the substance 
for the shadow; while, on the other was Carvajan, hard- 
hearted and hard-headed, never taking a step unless he 
was sure of whither it would lead, but having once taken 
it, never retracing it. It was a dwarf fighting against a 
giant and the victory was a foregone conclusion. 

Pascal knew by what means the confederates were pre- 
paring to obtain this victory, for, secretly interested as he 
was in the defence, he was in the very centre of the at- 
tacking body. He saw them all laboring like a lot of 
ants greedily stripping some dead animal of its flesh till 
only the bones are left white and clean. He knew what 
they had gained already. Tondeur had bought the saw- 
^ mills in the La Saucelle woods — those famous steam saw- 
mills which had so lowered the wages of wood-cutters. 
Humontier, Carvajan's brother-in-law, had lent a hun- 
dred and twenty thousand francs, receiving as security a 
mortgage on the fertile meadows through which flows the 
river Thelle. Fleury, Carvajaif s tool, the P^re Joseph of 
this Eichelieu, had advanced no money, but he merited a 
share of the spoil for the good service he was- continually 
rendering as magistrate's clerk, and by doing duty as ap- 
praiser and auctioneer at sales for debt in which nearly 
all the banker's loans resulted. Pourtois coveted the 
land which lay immediately around his inn, and aspired to 
seeing work resumed at the Great Marl-Pit ; for since the 
furnaces in the lime-kilns had been extinguished and the 
workmen dismissed, there had been a considerable falling 
off in his receipts, and his dining tables were empty. 

As for Carvajan himself, he would be content with 
nothing less than Honore de Clairefont's lands, money, 
happiness and honor. The most complete catastrophe 
seemed hardly sufficient in his eyes. He longed to see 
this man, who had humiliated him, at his feet that 
ho might trample on him, and to this exquisite moral 
pleasure he did not disdain to add the material satisfac- 
tion of having made a very profitable speculation ; for he 
was always practical, even in his vengeance. Possessor of 
the Clairefont estates, he was master of the surrounding 


74 


ANTOINETTE. 


districts. He could lead opinion, become a member of the 
G-eneral Council, be elected deputy^ and, by working the 
Great Marl-Pit with the developments and improvements 
he would be able to eifect, he could create an industrial 
power which must necessarily assure its founder a 
boundless future. 

Since PascaFs return, the banker had been quite differ- 
ent. He altered his habits, would stop to' talk to people 
in the streets, and was never tired of saying how 
glad he was to have his son with him again. The house 
in the Eue du Marche quite changed its appearance. The 
windows, which were generally closed, were thrown wide 
open, and the whole abode lost its air of mystery and sus- 
picion. And what was still more extraordinary, Carva- 
jan prepared to entertain his friends. 

I do not wish my son to feel the time pass tediously 
in my house,^^ he said to those who expressed a little sur- 
prise. He is young and needs amusement. For an old 
fellow like me, the house is cheerful enough,but for him it 
wants livening up, and I should like to see some ladies in 
it. Pascal is thirty now, and iFs time he thought about 
marrying.^' 

He had become suddenly filled with this idea of marry- 
ing his son. He was always ready to talk about it, and 
busied himself incessantly about putting it into execution. 

He had paid all sorts of unwonted attentions to the 
Xeglorieux, the rich millers of Capendu, and when Mad- 
ame and Mademoiselle Leglorieux received an invitation 
to dinner from the mayor of La Ncuville, they crimsoned 
with delight. Then they hurried off to Eouen, and spent 
two hours with Mademoiselle Simeon, the milliner in the 
Eue Beauvoisine, and the best dress-maker in the town. 
Madame Leglorieux* daughter was a tall, handsome girl 
of about twenty, and a splendid type of the Normandy 
race, with her white skin, magnificent hair, and large 
hands and feet. She was the only child, and Fleury, who 
knew within a few hundred francs how much every one in 
the neighborhood possessed, often said : “ Ah, she*ll be 

well off one of these days.** 

Madame Leglorieux, trembling with hope, had at once 
opened her heart to her daughter. 

My dear,*^ she said, it must be a marriage that is in 
question; for it is the first time Monsieur Carvaj an has 
ever invited ladies to his house. Oh, Felicie, think of it ! 
Ho has millions, and his son is so nice. They say that as 
a barrister ho is extremely clever — far more so than Mon- 
sieur Bonnet. If he would come and live at Eouen, ho 


ANTOINETTE. 


75 


might easily become senior advocate, and you would dine 
at the Prefecture 

Madamoiselle Felicie made no reply, but her eyes shone, 
and there was a bright red spot on each of her cheeks. 

And yet Pascal, directly his father allowed him a mo- 
ment to himself, turned his footsteps in the direction of 
Clairefont. Twice he went in the evening to the lane 
where he had met Antoinette, and, hiding behind the 
hedge, seated himself in the clover, which was yet warm 
from the last rays of the sun, and waited. But the beau- 
tiful horsewoman was no longer visible. Then he was 
bold enough to go close up to the park-gates, and the 
large Scotch deerhound, stretched lazily among the shrubs 
where he had scratched a hole to try and find a cool 
place, raised his long nose and gave vent to one or two 
barks of vexation. The young man crouched down by 
the park-wall, fearing he might be seen, and, in the silence 
he heard Antoinette’s musical voice, saying : 

^^Be quiet. Fox. It is only some beggar; are you go- 
ing to show your teeth at poor people ?” 

he does, he’ll show them to us one of these days,” 
added the harsh voice of Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice. 

These words cut Pascal to the heart. They formed a 
far more impassable separation between Mademoiselle de 
Clairefont and himself than the stones of the high park- 
wall ; for was it not Carvajan who was bringing about 
this ruin I 

lie walked slowly away. Might was drawing on; a 
slight mist was creeping over the woods. The young 
man followed the edge of the common where he had seen 
Kose washing her linen, and on it he saw EoussoVs flock 
of sheep browsing on the scanty herbage under the 
guardianship of the black dog. The shepherd was 
stretched out on a low wall near the fold which was open 
for the night, and was blowing through a hollow elder 
stalk that he had formed into a primitive flute, from which 
he drew a shrill, plaintive sound that died away in the 
air like the cry of a wounded bird. 

Pascal’s vicinity was soon discovered by the idiot, who, 
leaping to his feet, uttered two strident shouts which his 
dog at once obeyed by gathering together the scattered 
sheep. Then, seizing his whip, Poussot began furiously 
to gesticulate, as if the passer-by had committed a grave 
crime in even approaching his sheep, and for a long while 
Pascal heard the hill re-echoing with the sharp cracking 
of the whip, alternating with the shepherd’s shouts. 

He reached home feeling sad at the heart, although he 


76 


ANTOINETTE. 


had only been back in La Neuville a week. Carvajan at 
once noticed tbe change in bis son. He said : 

Wbat is tbe matter with you? Is there something or 
some one here you don’t like ? If so, it shall be altered, 
my boy. I want you to be happy.” 

Pascal looked at bis father, and thought him sincere. 
^^He has grown gentler as he has grown older,” he 
thought. ^‘ Perhaps he really would do a great deal to 
please me,” and he resolved to take advantage of his 
softened mood and tell him all. 

There might yet be time to turn aside the blow with 
which Clairefont was threatened. If only the return of 
the son who had been a wanderer over the globe for so 
long, could be the signal for the cessation of hostilities! 
Oh, with what affection would he repay his father, if for 
his sake he would consent to spare his vanqished enemies! 
He thought of Antoinette freed from her cares, able at 
last to smile, and of how it would be to him that the 
young girl would owe her father’s safety and her own 
peace of mind. A flood of tender pity swept over him 
at the thought, and he determined to make the attempt 
at once. 

Father, ” he said, since I have come home, I have 
not been able to help admiring the changes that have 
been effected. Here I find you the first man in the town, 
but although you already hold a high position, I see that 
it is not yet as high as it may be. ” 

Here Carvajan bent his head in token of acknowledg- 
ment, while his bronze face expanded in a silent laugh. 

Still I can see one dark cloud on the horizon, ” con- 
tinued Pascal, “ and that is the state of enmity in which 
you live with the occupants of Clairefont. Ho you think 
it is worthy of you to prolong a struggle which agitates 
the whole neighborhood ? For, all those who are not on 
your side are on theirs, -and you are setting the whole 
place at variance. ” 

The banker answered with grim irony : 

I shall not do so much longer, now. ” 

Pascal would not be deceived by this reply. 

I hear it said on all sides that the Marquis Honor6 is 
at the end of his resources, and that is what encourages 
me to speak to you so plainly, although I know the sub- 
ject is displeasing to you. Here are some unfortunate 
people, who by dint of ignorance, eccentricity, folly — call 
the cause what you will — have arrived at the verge of ut- 
ter ruin. For the wrong they have done you, father, 
what greater punishment can you wish them ? ” 


ANTOINETTE. 


77 


An expression of terrible glee stole over Carvajan's 
face. 

“ Boy, ” be said, witb contemptuous pity, “you do not 
understand what you are talking about. '' 

There was so much bitter irony in these few words ; 
they were so thoroughly the utterance of an insatiable 
vengeance, that they froze Pascal to the heart. He had 
hoped to persuade Carvajan to alter his course, or at least 
to provoke a discussion which would have some favorable 
result, and he found his father cold and hard as marble, 
and replying with the superior indulgence ol a man talk- 
ing to a child. Still he returned to the charge. 

“There can be no doubt that the Marquis de Clairefont 
is but a sorry adversary for so powerful a combatant as 
yourself.'^ 

“ He, he ! returned Carvajan scoffingly. “ If the mar- 
quis had only repeated that to himself every evening be- 
fore going to bed, for the last thirty years, perhaps he 
wouldn't be in the plight he is now." 

But he is old — " 

“Ah, by the way, he is just my age." 

“ And there are women in his family worthy of consid- 
eration." 

At these words, Carvajan started to his feet, and look- 
ing sharply at his son, said in a harsh metallic voice — his 
real voice —which made Pascal's nerves vibrate : 

“ Women ? Who told you so ? Or perhaps you have 
seen them ? We shall get into a pretty state if they are to 
be mixed up in our aifairs ! Women I Are there not al- 
ways women where the marquis .is concerned ? And is it 
in the old Demoiselle de Saint-Maurice that you take so 
deep an interest, or the beautiful Antoinette?." 

The young girl's name, uttered with such rough famili- 
arity, rang painfully on the young man's ear. To him 
the accent with which his father pronounced it, seemed a 
degradation, and had the latter allowed him time, he 
would have cut short all further comment. 

“Who has been speaking to you about these women ? " 
went on the old man with increasing excitement. “ Or 
do you happen to have met them ? You have been walk- 
ing all over the country ever since you have come back and 
they are always on the roads, like the adventuresses that 
they are. Perhaps they have even spoken to you? They 
have not much shame about them, and then Carvajan's 
son— what an opportunity!" And the banker ended 
with a horrible laugh. 

“ Father, I implore you — " 


78 


ANTOINETTE. 


Be quiet! Do you think I don't know them? You 
should beware of them; they're very sharp— the young 
one especially, with her innocent airs and her cavalry 
captain who won't come to the scratch! You take my 
word for it, my boy, they're a bad lot; and don't you 
have anything to do with them — ^you'll only be taken in. 

It wanted old Carvajan to get to the bottom of them, and 
it wasn't an easy job for him. If you are afraid of the 
noise that the downfall of that crumbling old ruin, which 
calls itself the house of Clairefont will make, go to Paris 
for a little while — you are young and you ought to amuse 
yourself. But take my advice and never try to alter the po- 
sition of the ninepins I set up. I certainly like you very 
well, but all the same you might get a nasty knock when 
I am bowling. Besides," he added, with mock good humor, 
‘‘you need not be so sensitive. The marquis has others 
with him besides women — he has a big fellow of twenty- 
eight or thirty, strong as a bull, although until now he 
has only wasted his strength on follies. But if he wishes to 
work, he can do so, and you and I know bow people can 
get on. I began by sweeping out old Gatelier's shop, and 
you, you obstinate fellow, have been all round the world. 
What is there to hinder this fine youth from building up the 
family fortunes again ? He, he ! perhaps we misjudge the 
boy ! Who knows but what he has another vocation than 
that of stunning a stableman and thrashing a poacher, 
between drinks ? I should be delighted to find that he had 
hidden capacities, and to see him prove one fine day that 
he is good for something." 

Carvajan paused, and his face grew hard and dark. 

“ But if," he went on, “ he is at once useless and harm- 
ful, like all his family, then he must fall and disappear. 
There is no room in society, as it is now constituted, for 
the vicious and the idle." 

After so rough a repulse, Pascal tried to divert his 
father's thoughts by assuming an air of utter indifference. 
He had only been led to speak by scruples which were, 
perhaps, excessive. The Clairefont family were nothing 
to him; he did not know them and did not wish to do so. 
Carvajan let him talk on without a word, but he resolved 
to have Pascal watched by some one whom he c mid trust 
and who would know how to follow up the clue given 
him. But even as he was thinking this, Pascal suspected • 
something of the kind and determined not to walk again 
in the direction of Clairefont until some time had elapsed. 

The dinner to which the mayor had invited all the 
leading men of La Neuville to celebrate his son's return 


ANTOINETTE. 


79 


was a very splendid affair^ for there is no one like a miser 
to spend upon occasion. The guests were waited upon 
by waiters from Kouen, whose appearance had so impos- 
ing an eifect upon the elder Dumdntier, CarvajanV 
brother-in-law, that every time one of them changed his 
plate he could not help saying; “Thank you, sir,” in 
spite of the furious glances darted at him by his wife. 

Commenced in great solemnity in the sombre dining- 
room which had been denuded of all superfluous furniture 
for the occasion ; for there were twenty -two at table, the- 
dinner became gradually gayer until the glasses were 
filled with Burgundy, when the tongues were thprouglily 
loosened and the conversation became extremely noisy. 

Fleury, who was only separated from the son of the 
house by Mademoiselle Leglorieux, attempted to draw out. 
the young man, and with that object began to talk about 
America. But he found all his attempts useless. PascaFs 
surroundings were detestable to him, and the prospect of 
living with these people, whose manners, language and 
ideas were so revolting to him, seemed intolerable. Car- 
vajan, cold and severe, sober in gesture and words, had 
the proud, menacing distinction of a prince compared to 
his companions. 

Mademoiselle Leglorieux, red and full-blown as a peony, 
sat beside him, mincing and tossing her head, endeavoring 
to be elegant, raising her glass to her lips, with her little 
finger held stifily out, picking and choosing herwords and 
making a display of ridiculous atfectation. Tondcur, 
squeezed into a black coat which was making him endure 
torture, had turned violet and was accompanying every 
sally of Fleury 's with an asthmatical, wheezy laugh. 
Madame Leglorieux was pouring fully detailed confi- 
dences into Carvajan^s ear about her daughter's talents and 
the legacies she had to expect from her two great-uncles, 
the rich farmers of Bray. 

“Yes, sir, I can truthfully say that Felicie will be a 
first-class match, such as could not be found elsewhere in 
in the whole canton. Thank Grod, her father and I are 
strong and healthy, but all the same she will have three 
hundred thousand francs the day she marries. And do 
you know what she is called in La Neuville ? The heiress ! 
You see, she will have so much without counting what we 
shall leave her, as far in the future as possible, of course ! ” 

She began to laugh, and the black corkscrew curls 
which hung on each side of her face, danced as if they 
were on springs, while Carvaj an looked at and listened to 
her with an expression of utter tranquillity. 


80 


ANTOINETTE. 


It struck Pascal, who was straining his ears to listen to 
her, to compare the mother and daughter, and he was 
umazed to find how deplorably great was the resemblance. 
They had the same figure, the same color, the same feat- 
ures. In Madame Leglorieux, he had a picture of what 
Felicie would be at forty, when her figure had developed, 
her complexion become mottled, her eyes bloated and 
her intellect dulled by a narraw, lazy, provincial life. 
And it was such a wife as that they intended to give him ! 

Then he reasoned with himself coldly and calmly. 
What was there so surprising in it after all ? Would it 
not be a very suitable union, and ought he to hope for any 
other? The girl was of the same district and the same 
rank of life as himself, and could he find a better bride? 
He, the son of a wealthy peasant, was not destined to 
make such an alliance as a nobleman of old family, and he 
had merely given way to his imagination by looking 
higher than he ought. 

He became unconscious of what was going on around 
him. He pictured himself alone in a silent, shady park, 
while before his eyes passed the figure of a girl, softly 
and mistily outlined as in a dream. She was his love, 
and he felt ready to make every effort to gain her. Noth- 
ing should tire his patience, nothing diminish his courage, 
and in the end he would wear out resistance, disarm all 
anger and be happy. 

He quivered at the thought. What joy to feel her 
small hand upon his trembling arm ! What bliss to pass 
through life with her! To see no one but her, to think 
of nothing but her, to melt his being into hers, and to 
have no longer a thought, a hope, a desire which was not 
centered in her. To be her husband, never to leave her but 
to return to throw himself more humbly at her feet — a 
master eager to make himself a slave. To see her reach 
the perfection of maternity, to have this exquisite woman 
the mother of his children, who would be fair, rosy, 
happy, imperious and coaxing as herself, and to feel his 
heart hardly large enough to contain all the love his 
darlings would inspire ! 

A violent acclamation aroused him from' his voluptuous 
dream. All his father’s guests had risen, and, touching 
each other’s glasses, were drinking his safe return, while 
Madame Leglorieux shook her curls and gave Carvajan 
u, triumphant look which seemed to say : 

You have brought him back. We will keep him!” 

Fleury, after bowing with grovelling obsequiousness 
to excuse himself for taking so great a liberty, com- 


ANTOINETTE. 


81 


menced a speech he had prepared beforehand, which he 
pretended to stumble over in order to give it the sem- 
blance of an impromptu effort. In it he made some 
thinly-veiled allusions to the struggle between Clairefont 
and Carvajan, insinuating that for many long years the 
mayor of La Neuville had been the defender of the com- 
mon liberty which was threatened by the last representa- 
tives of the old feudal oppression. 

A day, which perhaps is not very far off, will come 
when prosperity will reign over the land as the priceless 
reward of this triumphant resistance,'' he said, in conclu- 
sion; and this splendid result will be entirely owing to 
Monsieur Carvajan, the mayor of La Heuville. I will 
say no more, for you understand what I mean. Unite 
then with me in drinking the health of our esteemed and 
respected friend. Here's to his health." 

Fleury had said truly. They were all longing to share 
the spoil ; for it was always the Great Marl -Pit they had 
in view. The source of wealth would burst forth from 
the hillside, and each of the associates in the work of 
ruin would be able to draw largely from it. 

Suddenly there was silence — Carvajan was about to re- 
ply. He rose to his feet, looking very grave, and the 
cold, measured words fell slowly from his lips. He mod- 
estly denied the honor they would do him by attributing 
the precious advantages the future promised to his feeble 
initiative ; for he had had most valuable colleagues. But 
he was glad to have obtained general approbation; for the 
end that he had always kept before his eyes was solely 
the interests of those then around him. And he placed 
his hand on his heart with the unction of an apostle ready 
to immolate himself for the sake of humanity, and, in 
their delight, his guests redoubled their applause. 

Pascal assisted at this scene with wondering stupor. 
He asked himself if he were dreaming, or if, until now, 
he had not been deceived by false appearances. But sud- 
denly his eyes fell on Fleury's monkey-like face wrinkled 
into a silent smile, and he recalled the confidences of the 
magistrate's clerk. Then all that he had just seen was only 
a horrible comedy — ail that ho had heard, a shameless 
lie! 

He felt sick with disgust. He thought of the free, true 
life he had been leading but a few weeks before, and again 
he saw the vast plains of America stretched out before him 
as if to invite him to their silent, verdant solitude. A 
sensation of fresh, wholesome repose enveloped him at 
the thought, and he fancied he could feel the perfumed 


82 


ANTOINETTE. 


breeze of the savannah upon his forehead, calming the 
tempest of his brain. Why had he returned? What was 
he doing in this mire? As he tried to answer these 
questions, all his moral strength returned to him — the 
strength that in the old days would have prevented any- 
thing in the world making him an accomplice in any deed 
of infamy. A sudden enthusiasm filled his heart; he felt 
master of himself, superior to all that surrounded him, 
sure of being able to escape from the degradation he was 
being forced to share. He vowed to himself to leave all, 
family, friends and country, and to go and bury himself 
and his dreams in a land whence travellers never return. 
His future lay before him like a black abyss, and without 
a moment^s hesitation, without a quiver of fear, he deter- 
mined to cast his life into it. 

Dinner was over, and they left the table. Carvajan's 
office, that room of torture whose walls had heard so 
many sighs and moans, was brilliantly illumined. The 
master's desk, cleared of its papers, had been pushed into 
a corner. Easy-chairs stood around the fire-place, and a 
piano occupied the space between the windows. The som- 
bre, melancholy house was filled with noise and light, and 
out in the street the astounded rustics stood gazing at the 
unwonted spectacle of Carvajan's gleaming windows and 
listening to the sounds of a waltz that Mademoiselle 
P6licie was strumming. 

Pascal sat in a corner, listening abstractedly to what his 
Uncle Dumontier was saying to him. The name of Claire- 
font, spoken almost in his ear, arrested his attention, and 
looking up, he saw his father standing talking to Monsieur 
Malezeau in the window by the piano. 

You know. Monsieur Carvajan, that I am not a man 
to utter an opinion or give a,dvice lightly, " the attorney 
was saying: ‘^well, then, do not bo too harsh with Mon- 
sieur de Clairefont — make things a little easy for him. " 
What do you mean by that ? " asked the banker. 

“ Do not be continually goading him on as you have 
been doing for the last year, sir. Let him breathe; in 
short, give him time. ” 

“ But can I do so ? It is not I who have lent the mon- 
ey. I am but the middleman, and if I show the marquis 
consideration, perhaps, in the meantime, the security 
might depreciate in value, and in the end I might lose — ” 
Oh, you cannot fear that ! ” 

One must always fear it. " 

But who knows if Monsieur de Clairefont may not 
acquit himself of part of his debt, if he has a little respite 


ANTOINETTE. 


^3 


granted him ? 

At these words, Carvajan, who, since the commence- 
ment of the conversation, had been cold and surly, at once 
became all smiles and coaxes. He took Malezeau by the 
arm, leaned familiarly upon him, and with a look that 
was almost a caress, so soft was it : 

“ Is there anything new ? he asked. '‘'Ah, tell me all 
about it? Has the Baron de Croix-Mesnil made up his 
mind to marry ? Is the water going to return to the mill ? 

Already the attorney was regretting having aroused 
Carvajan's curiosity. He felt he had gone too far, and 
tried to beat a retreat, but the banker was not a man to 
easily give way. 

'' Come, Malezeau, you ought to be sincere. Has the 
marquis told you all about his latest invention ? Has he 
ever shown you his famous furnace ? ” 

'' How do you know — 

''Isn^tit my business to know everything?” broke in 
Carvajan, impatiently. “ For the last six weeks I have 
had nothing but all sorts of tales about this furnace 
dinned into my ears. They say that it is really wonder- 
ful ; that by means of a new system of draughts and grat- 
ings the marquis^ furnace will be able to burn even wet 
shavings, and to throw out a tremendous heat. Is it 
true ? ” 

The attorney made no reply. 

Well, why donH you speak out? Silence is as good 
an avowal as words. Have you seen the apparatus? Is 
it complete ? An engineer, whose opinion I have asked, 
pretends that it would be of immense importance in cer- 
tain industries.” 

Carvajan^s excitement was so great that Malezeau 
hoped to turn the situation to his client’s advantage. 
Perhaps, if he gave him to understand that the marquis’ 
invention would result in considerable gain, he might be 
able to intimidate the banker and make him willing to 
come to some agreement. 

I have, indeed, seen the arrangement in question, and 
the marquis was good enough to light it for me — ” 

'' Is the model of any importance ? I mean, is it merely 
a plaything, or can any reasonable faith be put in the ex- 
periments made with it?” 

''It is a well-constructed model which Monsieur de 
Clairefont has adapted to the stove in his laboratory. 
He uses it for his chemical experiments, and I am con- 
vinced that it will act as well in a large size as it does 
in miniature. I believe that in a very near future Mon- 


84 


ANTOINETTE. 


sieur de Clairefont will be set afloat again. If you wish 
for my opinion about him, I think him a wonderful man, 
and that there will bo, perhaps, more to gain by being on 
his side than by being against him/^ 

^‘Oh, ho,^' said Carvajan, relieving his burdened chest 
by a low whistle. Indeed ! And so he is such a won- 
derful man as all that, this good marquis? Well, I 
am delighted to hear it for his own sake. But amongst 
his other discoveries, why does he not make the one that 
would give me more pleasure than all the rest put to- 
gether— that of the money he owes me, and which I should 
be very glad to see back? You're a strange fellow, 
Mal^zeau, to come and calmly tell me such a parcel of 
nonsense as this. A wonderful man ! Well, look here, 
I'll tell you something, and you know that I never make 
a threat I don't mean; if this wonderful man is not 
in a position to take up the bill which falls due at the end 
of this month, that is to say, three days after Saint Firmin, 
I'll have him and his fine family turned out of their noble 
chateau neck and crop, as true as my name's Carvajan. 
And if this furnace is such a marvel, Malezeau, it's I 
who will work it, and you can be quite sure I shall make 
more out of it than your old Utopian of a marquis." 

Then, as the lawyer opened his mouth to make a su- 
preme effort for his client ; 

That's enough," said Carvajan haughtily. You can 
tell him I'll give him till the end of the month and not 
a day more or less. And let him remember; for I do not 
forget." 

And, raising his hand, he pointed with a bitter smile to 
a little white line, which stood out plainly on his brown 
cheek — the ineffaceable trace of the blow he had received 
from the whip thirty years before on Saint Firmin's night. 

Then Pascal, in the disordered state of his thoughts, 
weighed the wrongs of his father against those of 
the marquis, and, to his anguish, found them equal. 
Yes, Monsieur de Clairefont had been guilty of grave ef- 
fuses, and Carvajan's rancor was but just. Alas! that 
made the chasm between the two men but deeper still, too 
deep ever to bo filled by mere human will. And, victims 
of this implacable enmity, the children, who were innocent 
and might have loved each other, found themselves con- 
demned to hatred and strife. 

All the noise going on around seemed horrible to him, 
and he managed to slip out unnoticed, and went into the 
deserted street. The air was soft and still, and the stars 
were shining in the clear, dark sky. He seated himself 


ANTOINETTE. 


85 


on a stone bench near the fountain, v/hich was flowing 
with a soft gurgling sound, All else was silent, and, alone 
amidst the sleeping town, unable to recollect anything 
but sadness in his past, looking forward to nothing but 
sorrow in the future, cursing the marquis, blushing for 
his father, determined to elface Antoinette's image from 
his heart, Pascal despairingly buried his face in his hands 
and wept bitterly. 

CHAPTEE Y. 

The La Neuville fair was particularly brilliant that 
year. The cattle-market was crowded, and on - an 
average, heifers brought twenty-five pistoles each. The 
streets were filled with loungers, the shops stood hospit- 
ably open, and the peasants sauntered along the sidewalks 
in their new cobalt-blue blouses, which the wind blew out 
like balloons at the back, staring idly about them, and 
followed by their wives and daughters wearing stiff white 
caps decorated with long gold pins. 

Every moment a dog-cart or trap drove up, covered 
with dust, and bearing some farmer who sat with his cap 
on one side of his head and a cigar between his lips; and 
these fresh arrivals gave rise to endless greetings and 
exclamations of surprise and welcome. 

Why, here^s Maitre Levasseur ! How are you to-day? ” 
Hi, Jean-Louis ! Hi — i ! 

‘^Ah, you knowing old bird ! You did well to sell your 
apples last year. They won’t bring much this.” 

‘‘Shall we have- some coffee? Lebourgeois, just look 
after my mare, will you? Give her half a peck pf oats 
now and a drink of water in about half an hour’s time.” 

The innkeeper, his wife and his stable boy were bust- 
ling about from bar to cellar and from cellar to barn. 
From the room on the ground-floor came the most terri- 
ble yells, which sounded as if half the occupants were 
murdering the other half; but it was merely friends com- 
ing to an arrangement about the price of some cattle. The 
air was filled with a strong smell of frying, and little 
clouds of blue smoko floated out of the kitchen, while 
dozens of rolls, baked to a golden-brown, which had just 
been taken out of the oven, were cooling in a basket near 
the window. From behind the tarpaulin walls of a shoot- 
ing gallery, the detonations of the pistols sounded sharp 
and clear, mingling with the shrill, squeaky music of a 
roundabout, while on the box-seat of a phaeton, behind 
which was seated a footman armed with a hunting-horn, 


ANTOINETTE. 


86 

stood a dentist, brandishing a sabre, and explaining to ^e 
rustics with vulgar eloquence how, with the aid of this 
instrument of warfare he extracted the most refractory 
molars without pain or difficulty. 

A town dentist, to overawe you, would talk to you 
about the forceps, would offer you the punch, would ad- 
vise you the forfex,^^ he shouted in a hoarse voice. All 
ignorance and imposition! The implement is nothing, 
the hand is all. With his improved instrument he might 
break the tooth or fracture your jaw, whereas, gentlemen, 
I will give you relief with anything, with a sabre, a nail, 
a pin if you like, before you can say, ^ oh ! ' and all for 
fifty centimes.^^ 

A burning sun darted its fiery rays upon the town. 
The ground was so hot that it scorched the feet ; not a 
breath of wind came to carry off the strong smell of 
the animals in their pens, and from the market-place 
to the town-gates circulated a noisy crowd, which was 
divided between business and pleasure. Before the 
mayoralty was grouped the members of the fire brigade 
in their life-saving dress, and in the large hall, decorated 
for the occasion with tri-colored flags, the sub-prefect 
was distributing the prizes gained at a congress of 
apple-growers. 

Carvajan read an address, which was received with 
much applause, and the ceremony wound up with a noisy 
flourish of trumpets. Then a brief command was heard, 
the firemen fell into line, and the bugles rang out over the 
fields as the authorities passed out. 

Gradually the procession melted away. The florid- 
complexioned, well-to-do farmers lingered to wait for a 
friend, and formed themselves into little groups in the 
market-place. At the corner of the Eue du Marche, the 
sub-prefect turned to speak to Carvajan, who was then 
walking beside him : 

Shall you be at the fete this evening, mayor?” 

Certainly, sir. To begin with, it is my duty to be 
present, and, in addition, it has always been the custom 
at La Neuville to spend an hour at the ball. ” 

Oh, well, then, I shall come,” said the sub-prefect, 
since you think it would be as well. ” 

“ You will do more to help your elections in an hour 
spent at the ball, where you will meet all the large 
farmers, than you would in a week^s canvassing. And 
be attentive to the firemen, sir — they have a great deal 
of influence. You can never tell what you may not get 
with the help of the fire brigade. ” 


ANTOINETTE. 


87 


“ I see you have thoroughly studied the question, said 
the high official, laughing. But one is always the 
gainer when in your society. ” 

Carvajan's face changed. To him the phrase sounded 
like a sarcasm. But he looked at the sub-prefect, saw 
that he was condescendingly good-humored as usual, and 
reproached himself for his suspicion. “ What can I be - 
dreaming of? he thought. “Whence should he obtain 
the audacity to attack me ? Does he not know that if I 
chose, I could soon shatter all his plans?” 

“ Gentlemen, we shall meet again this evening at the 
corporation banquet.” 

Then he went down the little street to his home. It 
was mid-day, and at the church he m^.t the people coming 
out from high mass. The women and girls came out chat- 
ting together, and filling the air with a buzzing like that 
of a hive. They were all dressed in their best, and car- 
ried their mass-books decently in their hands; and as they 
passed the mayor, they one and all lowered their voices to a 
whisper ; for even these women, who yet had nothing to 
fear, felt the impression of terror which Carvajan had 
cast around him. The latter merely smiled. It was not 
displeasing to him to feel himself feared; for he regarded it 
as a proof of his power. 

But when he had passed the fountain, and was about to 
raise the knocker, he paused. He had just caught sight 
of Pascal slowly approaching from the other end of the 
street, and everything about the young man betokened 
thought and despondency. Since he had returned to La 
Heuville his bronzed complexion had grown pale, and 
his cheeks had fallen in. Nothing of this change had 
escaped Carvajaffis eye, and as he watched his son walk- 
ing down the street, with weary, lagging steps, he asked 
himself if it could indeed be the same brisk, vigorous man 
he had greeted at the station a few days before. 

They met at the door, and Pascal could not repress a 
start on looking up and seeing his father, 

“Have you just come from the fair?” asked Carvajan, 
attentively observing his son. 

“Yes, father,” answered Pascal, as though aroused from 
a dream. 

“ Are you hungry ? ” 

“ I am, indeed.” And they went into the dining-room. 

“ He has not even noticed that there is a fair at La 
Neuville to-day,” thought Carvajan. “ He has been 
hanging about Clairefont again---that chalky dust on his 
boots comes from the Great Marl-Pit. He evidently mis- 


88 


ANTOINETTE. 


trusts me. Whenever I ask him a question he never 
answers but with a lie. He even fears to look at me ; he 
is afraid that I should read his thoughts in his eyes.” 

Pascal, in fact, was seated on the other side of the 
table, his eyes bent on his plate, eating with an absent- 
minded, abstracted air. Determined as he was to leave 
the country, he had been unable to resist the desire to 
once more climb the Clairefont hill ; and, leaving the 
house as soon as he had seen his father set out for the 
mayoralty, had reached the plateau by the path which 
led past the Great Marl-Pit. 

He did not intend as before to lie in ambush near the 
park ; for he was afraid of being seen, and a wave of blood 
rushed to his brain at the thought of finding himself face 
to face a second time with Antoinette. 

He thought that she would be sure to go to mass, and 
by nine o’clock he was in the little church. He^ seated 
himself on a wooden bench in a dark corner, where it 
was nearly impossible for anyone to recognize him, and 
there he patiently waited, looking at the ornaments on 
the altar, the pictures on the walls, the stained glass win- 
dows, and finding in each object a trace cf the devout 
generosity of the chatelains of Clairefont. 

On a white marble medallion near one of the confes- 
sional boxes, Pascal saw these words inscribed in golden 
letters : ^‘The Lord has preserved to me my beloved 
daughter. May His holy name be praised I ” And be- 
neath were the name and date : “ Honor6 de Clairefont, 

1872.” It was a pious tribute of gratitude which had 
been placed there by the marquis on Antoinette’s recov- 
ery from a dangerous illness. 

Then Pascal had an hallucinatory vision in the solemn 
mysterious darkness of the church. It seemed to him 
that he was borne away towards the chateau by a force 
which annihilated all volition on his part. He entered the 
old mansion, went to the young girl’s chamber, and there, 
stretched onher bed, pale and hollow-cheeked, he saw her 
at the point of death. He recognized her at once, al- 
though she looked but a pretty child. Beside the sick- 
bed sat an old man whom Pascal did not know, but whom 
he guessed to be the marquis. He was holding his 
daughter’s thin, white hand, while large tears stood in 
his eyes, and his lips moved as though in prayer; and 
Pascal knew that he was offering up a heartfelt petition 
to God to save his child. 

Then, as if by an immediate manifestation of ihe Di- 
vine Will, the color came into Antoinette’s cheeks, and 


ANTOINETTE. 


89 

her eyes shone clear and bright. There was a sudden 
transformation in her. It was no longer a sick child up- 
on whom the young man was gazing, but the beautilui 
girl he had met in the shady lane, the girl he at once 
dreaded and worshiped, and for whom ho would have 
unhesitatingly laid down his life. 

Pascal made an effort to dispel this vision and to regain 
his self-possession. He sought something real on which 
to fix his eyes, and his glance fell again on the white mar- 
ble tablet; again ho repeated the inscription to himself, 
as if he were thanking G-od for having saved Antoinette. 
Had she not been kept from death that he might see and 
love her? But if he were destined to love her, why then 
should she hate him ? He rose and slowly moved towards 
the rows of chairs which stood facing the altar. A fall- 
stool in black wood, with a cusl)ion of blue velvet, stand- 
ing in the middle of the first row, attracted his attention, 
and he approached it, feeling sure that it was there that 
Antoinette offered up her prayers. He bent his knee 
where she knelt, and seeing that the ledge of the fall-stool 
formed a box, he opened it and saw a mass-book lying in- 
side beside a collecting bag. He took the book in his 
trembling hand. It was small, with silver clasps, and 
covered in white morocco. On the fly-leaf there was a 
date — that of Antoinette's first communion, the rest was 
white and spotless as her soul. Pascal could not resist 
the desire of looking through this book, hoping to find in 
it some trace of the young girl's inner thoughts, but there 
were only sacred pictures between the pages. One of 
Saint Antoinette bore the words: ^^To my dear sister, 
from Eobert de Clairefont." Pascal's heart was filled 
with a deep tenderness as he saw the simple, loving souve- 
nirs, and he reproached himself for his curiosity ; for it 
seemed to him that he had been guilty of a profanity. He 
closed the book again, and leaning his forehead on this 
mute confidante of hope and despair, he prayed. 

Gradually his heart regained its calmness. He left 
more a master of himself, more sure of doing what was 
right. He rose, and catching sight of the bag, in which 
no doubt Mademoiselle de Clairefont was going to receive 
the offerings of the charitable that very day, he slipped 
his alms into it, then closed the box, and regained his 
place in the dark corner of the church. 

The bell began to ring. The sacristan came into the 
choir to light the candles, and the gloomy nave was starred 
with trembling flames. Heavy footsteps dragged over 
the flag-stones, the grating of the chairs as they were 


90 


ANTOINETTE. 


moved echoed through the sonorous emptiness of the 
arched building, and one after another the congregation 
took their places. Just as the priest was coming out of 
the sacristy, a light foot-fall made Pascal start. He turned 
eagerly towards the porch, and there he saw Antoinette 
entering the church, followed by Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice,and accompanied by a tall, military-looking young 
man, in whom Pascal's agitation made him recognize Mon- 
sieur de Croix-Mesnil. A mist came before his eyes, the 
stained glass windows seemed to be gleaming and flam- 
ing, there was a ringing in his ears, and the church 
seemed to shake on its foundations. Then he made a 
violent efl’ort, and again he saw and heard. 

The priest was at the altar, and the murmur of his chant 
sounded distinctly amidst the silence. The two women 
and their companion were lost in the crowd. Pascal rose, 
and, leaning against a pillar, looked round for Antoinette. 
He saw her on the other side of the church, her head 
bent and absorbed in prayer as she knelt between her 
aunt and her betrothed. And such was the ending of his 
fondly cherished dream — the sight of Mademoiselle de 
Clairefont . beside the man who was destined to be her 
husband. All the schemes, all the hopes, all the fears to 
which he had so passionately devoted himself had troubled 
no one but himself. She, who in his thoughts had formed 
their center, had not the faintest knowledge of them. 
Calm and cold as before she went on her way, uncon- 
scious of the tempest she had raised. 

He bitterly asked himself what he was doing in this 
church, and, with the certainty of the futility of his illu- 
sions, he regained all his energy. He rose, went out 
without once looking round, and, following the road by 
which he had come, returned to the town. And that was 
the happy walk from which ho was returning, when he 
met his father. 

Seated opposite one another, the two men continued to 
eat their lunch in silence. Outside, the farmers, who 
continued to arrive in ever-increasing numbers, walked 
past the house in little groups. The sounds of pistols 
fired in the distance, the greeting shouts, the jokes and 
songs were all mingled in a joyous tumult. 

At Clairefont and in the little house in the Rue du 
Marche alone, did thought and melancholy reign supreme. 
Yictor and vanquished alike were anxious; the marquis, 
because Antoinette's fiance had arrived the evening be- 
fore to pass a few days at the chateau ; Carvaj an, be- 
cause he saw before him the son, whom he had dreamed 


ANTOINETTE. 


91 


of attaching to himself by the bonds of tranquil happi- 
ness, gloomy and uneasy. 

Honore, suddenly aroused from his egoistic abstraction, 
had been compelled to return to the bitter realities of life. 
The presence of Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil had again 
brought to his memory the difficulties of his financial po- 
sition and the inexplicable hesitation Antoinette displayed 
in putting off her marriage month after month. 

The mayor of La Neuville was asking himself with 
wondering anxiety if, at the very moment of his triumph, 
some obstacle was to be placed in his path against which 
all the energy of his will would be of no effect. Pascars 
dejection caused him a feeling of dull uneasiness which he 
was not the man to bear for very long, and he determined 
to question his son boldly and to have a final and decisive 
explanation. 

Early that morning the occupants of Clairefont had 
been awakened by the traditional firing which announced 
the commencement of the fete. At the sound, a window 
in the front of the house was thrown open, and Antoinette, 
with a white wrapper thrown round her, leaned out, look- 
ing serious and thoughtful. Her pale face' her red eyes 
testified to the weariness and desponding thoughts of a 
sleepless night, and evidently the dawn had not dispelled 
these shadows; for the young girl stood motionless atthe 
window, utterly indifferent to the beauty of the sweet 
summer morning. Her pretty forehead had an anxious 
fold in it, and about her eyes, fixed absently on space, 
there was the weary, languid look of recently shed tears. 
It was only when her bed-room door was opened that 
she roused herself, and looking round, she saw her Aunt 
Isabelle, and her sad face was lighted by a smile. 

Eobed in a large-patterned chintz dressing gown, her 
gray hair in wild disorder and her face as red as a peony, 
in spite of a liberal application of rice powder, the old 
maid came in with an air of deep mystery. She bestowed 
two hearty kisses on her niece ; then, leaning her back 
against the mantel-piece in a thoroughly masculine atti- 
tude, she said : 

I heafid you open your window, so I thought I would 
come to you. I have passed a frightful night — nothing 
but nightmare the whole time. I don't know whether 
you believe in dreams ? I do. My mother used to tell 
what they meant in a wonderful way, and her prophecies 
always came true. Well, last night I dreamt of a red 
cock — that’s always a sign of misfortune or death.^ I 
thought I saw a tremendous red cock with a face just 


92 


ANTOINETTE. 


like that horrible Carvajan^s, and he was crowing and 
flapping his wings. I woke up with a start, and ail in a 
perspiration. I haven't got over it yet. Yon know 
the position in which wo are placed. Yesterday evening 
a notice came that we were to pay a hundred and sixty 
thousand francs, some odd centimes. Of course I hid the 
paper away, and I haven't dared mention it to your 
father. But, nevertheless, we must see what is to be 
done; for things won't stay as they are. We are at our 
last penny, and I don't know how we are going to take 
up this bill. A hundred and sixty thousand francs are 
not to be picked up in the road, and I haven't a sou, 
Saint-Maurice is all I have left. There's a house there 
that is just habitable, and the estate brings in two thou- 
sand five hundred francs a year. It'll be a roof to cover 
us in the days of poverty that we shall see but too soon, 
and enough bread to keep us from starving, and wild 
horses shall not make me give it up, for it is our last re- 
source now that your father has so shamefully squandered 
and lost all." 

With a gesture of entreaty, Antoinette seated herself 
beside her aunt, and turned towards her, her sweet face 
blanched with worry. 

“Auntie, please don't blame my father," she said. 
“ He has done everything for the best. He certainly has 
pursued shadows and given way too much to false hopes, 
but he had but one end in view — to enrich us and increase 
our comfort. You know that he does not care a bit about 
himself, and the little Chateau de Saint-Maurice will 
seem a palace to him, if he has us all there with him. " 

“ Oh, I know he has a heart of gold, but unfortunately 
that will not pay his debts, and the creditors who are har- 
rassing us won't give us any peace. Mal6zeau has seen 
Carvajan, and he says he was harder and more bitter even 
than usual, so we must not be surprised at anything that 
may happen. My dear, it's enough to drive one mad. If 
between now and the end of the week, we do not find some 
means of gaining time, we shall have to get out of here. 
We shall see the bailiffs in the drawing rooms of Claire- 
font, and we shall be turned out of our ancestral home. 
What will Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil think of that? " 

“ I don't worry myself about him, auntie, " answered 
Antoinette with a smile. “ I know him, and he would be 
just as willing to marry me if I were poor, as if I were 
rich. And if I loved him — 

“Don't you love him?" cried Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice in horrified tones. “ What ! After he has been 


A.NTOINETTE. 


93 


courting you for nearly two years ! 

I think him charming, auntie, replied the young 
girl with gentle melancholy, ‘^but he is not the man one 
ought to marry, if the love of the man to whom one is 
bound is all the happiness one has to expect. He is very 
gentlemanly and rather cold, capable of every delicacy of 
feeling and quick to respond to every noble sentiment; 
but he will never feel the grand impulses or the ardent 
devotion of the man whose passion fills his soul. You 
know that— you told me so yourself one day. Shall I 
consent to become his wife to see him risk being ruined 
with us, with the certainty that he has neither sufficient 
energy nor talent to overcome the difficulties with which 
we are surrounded? No, aunt, it would be ungenerous; 
it would be mean, and I will not do it. ” 

Well, the poor boy certainly would get the worst of 
it, if he had to ‘portend' with Carvajan. Ah, if only I 
had the power to endow him with genius and talent, as 
they do in the fairy tales ! I mean a real, serious, practi- 
cal genius — not like your father's. How delighted I should 
be to see him attack that ‘schismatic' old mayor ! Ah! 
to pay back the scoundrel all the harm he has done 
us ; to fight him with his own weapons, to triumph over 
him, and to laugh at him till we were tired I Well, there, 
I don't know what I wouldn't give for that ! " 

Aunt Isabelle nodded her head vigorously two or three 
times, took a few strides; then seating herself opposite 
her niece, continued : 

“ Why is not your brother as sharp-witted as he is mus- 
cular! He'd have pitched into the mayor and given him 
what for ? But he's a perfect baby where business is con- 
cerned, like your father and myself: you have all the 
brains of the family, my dear. Strange times to live in 
when a Carvajan can worry and torment a Clairefont, and 
the latter has no one to look to for help and succor but 
himself! In bygone times, he would have gone to the 
king, and the affair would have been put right before you 
could look round, but now it's nothing of the kind. If 
the scale goes down at all, it is in favor of these wretches, 
and every advantage is given to them. The greater 
rogues they are, the more favor can they count upon. 
And so you see, my dear child, that we have no one on 
our side, and we must resign ourselves to our fate." 

“ That is the easiest part of it all, auntie. Our life will 
not be changed in the least. How have we been living for 
the last few years ? In the most miserable way. Poverty 
is a hundred times harder to bear in a mansion intended to 


94 


ANTOINETTE. 


be the scene of luxury, than in a modest little house. I was 
born at Clairefont; it is here I have grown up and learned to 
suffer, and I am bound to the place by a thousand associa- 
tions; but I would break every tie without a regret if we 
could find peace and safety elsewhere. Only let my 
father be free and at ease ; only let his old age be 
shielded Irom care and anxiety; only let us emerge from 
our present difficulties with the honor of our name intact, 
and I promise you I will not shed one tear for the bril- 
liant past, and that I shall only be too thankful for the 
humble, happy present.^^ 

“ And you will remain unmarried ? ” 

Of course I shall remain unmarried, auntie, like you. 
We two shall finish by being the same age, and we shall 
have little hobbies, we shall play cards, we shall wear 
very young-looking caps trimmed with ribbons, we shall 
make our own jam, and papa will tell us all about his 
latest inventions (which he will have no means to put 
into practice), and we shall give them our sincere admira- 
tion, since they will no longer cost anything. Then, as 
we shall always have enough at Saint-Maurice to feed a 
horse on, when it is fine and we have been very good, we 
shall drive in the woods with Robert. Come, auntie, 
look pleased ! There are still good times in store for us. 
With the help o^* a little philosophy one can become ac- 
customed to anything, and when one is with loved ones, 
what can there be to complain of? 

^he old maid started to her feet, stretched out her long 
arms, and, catching her niece round the waist, pressed 
her closely to her bony chest. 

^^You dear, good child she exclaimed tenderly. 
“Wherever you are, there will be happiness. You are 
the sunshine of the house, and I donT know what would 
become of us without you. Youh^e right — don^t you 
marry your dragoon. If you stay with us, you will be 
poor, but you will have your liberty — with him you would 
have a little more money, but you couldn’t call your soul 
your own. I know I am abominably selfish, and that I 
think only of myself when I encourage you in your ideas 
of independence. But let him blame me who likes ! I 
have you as my living excuse.’^ 

“Don^t reproach yourself, auntie,^’ said Antoinette, 
turning her head a little aside, “you have not influenced 
my decision. I made up my mind a long time ago, and I 
am only waiting for an opportunity to toll Monsieur de 
Croix-Mesnil. He is a gentleman, and as such ho will 
understand my reasons for breaking off the engagement, 


ANTOINETTE. 


95 


and will still remain our friend. As for papa, it will be 
best to say nothing at all to him about it, and especially 
not to-day. Let us get the fete oyer, and then if there is 
any need, we will have a family council to-morrow/" 

Let us hope that no disagreeable incident will arise 
to aggravate the situation,"" said Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice. I have a presentiment of evil, and I am rare- 
ly mistaken."" 

Mademoiselle do Clairefont slowly shook her head. 

“We will pray to God to spare us any increase of sor- 
row,"" she replied. “He cannot mean us to be totally 
cast down, but if such is His will — "" 

“ Then I hope it will be I that he will visit with His 
wrath, and that you, my dear children, may be spared ! "" 
exclaimed the old maid, with a passion of devotedness 
which sent the blood to her face in crimson waves. 
“ There goes the first bell, and I haven"t even done my 
hair,"" said Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice. “I must run. 
Good-bye for the present."" And reaching the door in 
two strides, she disappeared like a whirlwind. 

Aunt Isabelle was never long “ getting herself up,"" 
as she said, and it was not five minutes" walk from the 
chateau to the church ; so the priest had not finished pro- 
nouncing the benediction before Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font, accompanied by her aunt and Monsieur de Croix- 
Mesnil, had reached her seat and commenced to pray. 

PascaFs deep sigh when he saw Monsieur de Croix- 
Mesnil did not reach Antoinette s ears, and the 
sound of the footsteps of the man who adored her, as he 
left the church, aroused no echo in her heart. She re- 
mained absorbed in her holy meditations until her aunt 
gave her a gentle nudge, saying : “ Get ready for the 

collection ;"" and then she closed her book, opened the box 
of her fall-stool, and took out the velvet bag with the 
faded embroidered representation of the Clairefont arms. 

The beadle, his silver-headed cane in his hand, came up 
to her with a profound bow, and Antoinette left her seat 
and went towards the choir. As she walked, she fancied 
she heard a slight metallic chink within the bag, and, 
loosening the silken cords, she saw with an amazement 
which sent the blood rushing to her cheeks, five pieces of 
gold shining on the black leather lining. 

She reached the altar, bent low before it, then com- 
menced the collection, feeling very troubled in her mind ; 
and the half-pennies and pence fell into the bag, hiding 
from sight the mj^sterious louis as she went from seat to 
seat murmuring mechanically : “ For the poor, please."’ 


96 


ANTOINETTE. 


Who has come to the church this morning and so gen- 
erously left this anonymous gilt?” she thought as she 
moved down the church. She looked eagerly around, 
glancing into all the dark corners, but only the familiar 
faces of the peasants met her gaze ; for Pascal was already 
far away. 

From that time to the end of the mass, Antoinette paid 
little attention to the service. Her book lay idle in her 
hands, as she forgot to read her prayers, and §he sat with 
her eyes fixed on a large glass window, on which was 
depicted the struggle between Jacob and the angel, and 
which had been given to the church by her great grand- 
father. The son of Isaac was shown striving to hold his 
celestial adversary within his powerful arms, and beneath 
the painter had traced these words in Gothic characters : 

Thus does man, bound to earth, strive to conquer heaven.” 

To Mademoiselle de Clairefont, who had never ex- 
amined the window so attentively before, there seemed a 
strong likeness between the features of Jacob and those 
of someone who was not altogether a total stranger to her. 
She knew this strong-looking face with the brown beard 
and the piercing eyes, but she could not remember where 
or when she had seen it. It was in vain she racked her 
brain — memory would not come to her aid. The priest 
had left the altar and the congregation were crowding 
out of the church, and yet she sat still lost in thought. 

• Come, dear, we must go,” said Aunt Isabelle. ^‘Baron, 
will you wait for us at the door? We have to give in our 
accounts to the priest.” 

Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil" bowed, and went towards the 
porch, while the two others turned towards the sacristy. 
They found the good-hearted, simple-minded priest, who 
had christened Antoinette and prepared her for her first 
communion,'‘removing his sacerdotal garments. But as 
soon as he saw them, he tore himself from the hands of 
his sister, who was unfastening his surplice, and hastily 
advanced to meet them. 

Pray do not let us disturb you, my dear Abbe,” ex- 
claimed Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice. We have only 
a moment to stay. Antoinette has come to give you the 
proceeds of the collection and then we must run off.” 

Mademoiselle Bihorel, the priesPs sister, had already 
opened the velvet bag, and was turning the contents upon 
the table. The gold, silver and copper rolled out to- 
gether, and she uttered an exclamation of surprise : 

Oh, brother, look ! ” 

The priest smiled, and taking the young girl’s hands : 


ANTOINETTE. 


97 


This is your lavish gift — I know your generous dis- 
position. But it is too much, my child, and I ought to 
scold rather than thank you.'' 

do not deserve any thanks, your reverence," she 
said hastily. This money is not from me. I found it in 
the bag before I commenced the collection." 

At this Aunt Isabelle’s amazement became nothing 
short of stupefaction. For a moment she was dumb ; then 
heaving a sigh which was like the neighing of a horse, 
she exclaimed : 

Well, this is' rather too much of a good thing ! How • 
on earth could it have got there ? I sent Bernard with 
the bag to put in your fall-stool myself, yesterday even- 
ing. Has anyone dared to go rummaging — " 

At any rate, auntie, whoever it was can't have done 
so with any thievish intentions," interrupted her niece 
playfully, since instead of taking anything he has left 
me money for the poor. Besides, perhaps, there was no 
need for anyone to rummage, as you say. Bernard may 
have simply placed the bag on, instead of inside, the fall- 
stool. In any case, what is there so important about the 
affair for you to make so much fuss about it? " 

Aunt Isabelle was afraid she had pained her, and, 
wishing to soothe her, said jokingly: 

You'll find it was the baron who has risen at daybreak 
in order to come here on the quiet and prepare you a lit- 
tle surprise." 

Aunt, you know very well that that could not be. To 
begin with, Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil is not an early riser, 
and secondly, he did not know it.was I who was to make 
the collection." 

I don't know anyone round here to whom we can give 
the credit of so much generosity," said Mademoiselle 
Bihorel, meditatively. 

And no stranger has Visited the church, to my know- 
ledge," added the priest. He paused abruptly. “ Unless 
it was the young man I saw this morning as I walked 
round the church pronouncing the benediction." 

What young man?" asked Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice, her forehead gathering into a frown. 

A dark, bearded young man, who was sitting near the 
front, in a dark corner to the right of the door." 

As if evoked by magic, Pascal's face appeared before 
Antoinette's eyes. She knew now who it was who resembled 
the son of the patriarch wrestling with the angel. Did 
he, as it said beneath the picture, wish to attain heaven? 
And what would heaven be to a Carvajan, if not a Claire- 
7 


98 


ANTOINETTE. 


fonf s love ? There could not be the slightest doubt but 
that it was he who had gone to her fall-stool, opened it, 
and left there the proof of his impertinent curiosity. 

She thought him strangely bold, and her anger rose at 
his audacity. What did he want ? For what did he hope ? 
Did he think to keep himself present to her mind, merely 
because he had once met her by chance ? Did he pretend 
to her gratitude by his offensive generosity? 

To these questions the gentler voice of her reason re- 
plied ; “ Of what have you to complain ?.- He has placed 

his gift in your hands and yet hidden himself. He might 
have remained in the church, to wait till you came to 
him, and have given you his alms openly, if he had chosen. 
But he was afraid of displeasing you; he dared not meet 
your eyes. He has been timid and respectful, and are 
you going to reproach him for it?'" 

‘‘Well, now you have delivered up your accounts, let 
us hurry off, my child," said Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice. “We have kept that poor baron cooling his 
heels at the door a tremendous time; let us go and relieve 
him. Good-bye, my dear Abbe; good-liye, little one." 

The “little one," who had turned her back sometime 
since on her fiftieth year, made a deep curtsey, and accom- 
panied the two ladies from the chateau to the door of the 
sacristy. Hardly were the aunt and niece alone in the 
church before Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice began, while 
she watched Antoinette with eyes brimming with curiosity. 

“Well, I suppose you recognized your donor in the 
portrait the priest drew of him ? It was certainly the 
heir of the house of Carvajan himself." 

“ Oh, auntie ! " murmured the young girl, wearily. 

“Oh, well! What is it? The old rogue's son, stung 
by remorse perhaps, restores a little of the money his 
father has stolen, and makes use of your hand to make 
a restitution so agreeable to both God and man. Yery 
moral and extremely, gallant I You will find that we have 
unawares an ally in that monster’s stronghold." 

“ Pray do not joke on such a subject, aunt," said Made- 
moiselle de Clairefont in an agitated voice. 

“What's the matter? I don't understand your emo- 
tion," said the old maid in surprise. 

“ The matter is that all this humiliates and wounds me — 
that I cannot admit the idea of a stranger thus forcing 
himself into my life. I do not know this man, he is 
already odious to me, and I wish to know nothing of him, 
unless it is that he is his father’s son and that consequent- 
ly I ought, if not to despise him, at least to hate him. 


ANTOINETTE. 


99 : 


Besides, how do you know that he did not put the money 
there out of bravado ? Does it not look like a cruel jest? 
He knows that we are so impoverished that we can no, 
longer afford to bestow our alms as in the past, and does 
he not intend to make us understand that, without the 
aid of a Carvajan, we should be obliged to leave empty 
the outstretched hands of the unfortunate.” 

‘‘Goodness, how you excite yourself! And really it 
isn^t worth while. Anyway, he’s managed to get himself 
thought about and talked about enough for a mere hun- 
dred francs; if that is what he reckoned on doing, he isn’t 
so very stupid after all. How his ears must burn 1 But 
let me say one word more before we dismiss the subject, 
I do not think he is so black as you paint him. In the 
past, he 'used to quarrel dreadfully with his father, and 
though it’s true he has returned home, is that a proof that 
beholds the same opinions as that old rascal ? For my 
part, my dream would bo to see them eat each other up, 
Carvajan against Carvajan I When Greek meets Greek — 
‘thugs’ of war — you know.” 

“But you will not enjoy such a spectacle, aunt,” an- 
swered Antoinette, with contemptuous bitterness. “ When 
the time comes, you may be sure they will unite to crush 
us. But whether that is so or not, do not let us ever 
speak again of what has taken place.” 

They left the church, and found Monsieur de Croix- 
Mesnil very intent on deciphering an epitaph on the stone 
which served as a doorstep, and from which he turned 
with a smile when he saw them. He was a handsome man 
of about thirty, with dark eyes and fair moustache, a par- 
ticularly well-bred manner, and a remarkably pleasant 
nature. He had giv^n proofs of great valor during the 
war when he was under the command of General de 
Charette, and he was usually spoken of as being one of 
those quiet men who expose themselves to the greatest 
dangers without a word to draw anyone’s attention, and 
who will give the deadliest orders in the most tranquil, 
placid voice. 

“ I am summoning all my classic memories to my aid 
to arrive at an understanding of this Latin inscription,” 
he said, as the two ladies approached. “ Unless I am mis- 
taken, it refers to a certain Abbe de Clairefont who was 
buried here owing to his wish that his mortal remains 
should be trodden under foot by the feet of the faithful 
as they entered the place of worship. At least that is 
what i take it to mean , — calcabunt fldelium 2 Jedes” 

“ That is perfectly right,” answered Mademoiselle de. 


100 


ANTOINETTE. 


-Saint-Maurice. is the grave of Foulquo de Claire- 

font, Prior of Jumiege. If you care to hear it, the mar- 
quis will tell you his history. He began as a musketeer, 
and led a very bad life; then he became a model of piety 
and finished by basing a saint. He is the religious pride of 
the house, and you will see his portrait in the oratory.^' 
Here are papa and Eobert coming to meet us,^^ broke 
in Antoinette at this point. 

The marquis, leaning on his son^s arm, was advancing 
slowly along the avenue of lime-trees which stretched 
from the village to the chateau gates. Eobert was talk- 
ing gayly to his father, and with his left hand he had 
hold of Antoinette's deer-hound, which he was leading 
by a chain. When he caught sight of his sister, he loosed 
the dog, which darted oif like an arrow, leaped about the 
young girl with short, sharp barks of delight. 

Why didn^you let the poor thing run as he liked ?” 
cried Mademoiselle de Clairefont, who had distanced her 
companions, as soon as she was within speaking distance. 

Because he had already started off once to join you at 
church. How as I have never heard of mass being said 
for dogs — ” 

“ Ah, of course ; when Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil is here. 
Fox will not leave me,^" said Antoinette with a smile. 

He is jesilovLSj parbleu” said Eobert, laughing.’ 

There is no reason for him to be,^' replied the baron, 
gently. Of the two rivals, the man certainly does not 
receive the better treatment from mademoiselle.^^ 

Come,'lCroix-Mesnil, it will all come right in the end,” 
said the marquis, “ Let us go in now, and after lunch I 
will show you my new furnace. You'll see, it’s a marvel ! 
When one has invented anything so simple and yet des- 
tined to have such wonderful results, one need not des- 
pair. We shall soon have the Great Marl-Pit at work 
again, and this time with such improvements in the kilns 
that it will be certain fortune. You’ll see— you’ll see.” 

Antoinette and her aunt exchanged a rapid look. The 
girl’s heart felt very heavy as she heard the inventor 
speak so confidently of riches and work when he was on 
the eve of utter ruin. 

^^We shall have to go to the fete this evening, my 
children ” resumed Monsieur de Clairefont. “We will 
wait until the heat of the day is over, and after dinner 
we will quietly walk down to the town for an hour or so.” 

A cloud came over Antoinette’s face. 

“ Ho you think our absence would be misinterpreted if 
we stayed away, papa ? ” she said, diffidently. “ We 


ANTOINETTE. 


101 


really take no interest in these fairs. Why should 
we go ? '' 

^ To conform to custom. We, of all people, have no 
right to disregard tradition.” 

^^No doubt; but it will bo very fatiguing for you 
amongst the crowd, the noise and dust, ” returned An- 
toinette, who was trembling with the thought that a ma- 
licious word, a thoughtless allusion might roughly and 
suddenly reveal the truth to the marquis. 

“ Oh, I, my daughter; I am not at all anxious to go 
beyond the gates of Clairefont, and the presence of you 
young people at the ball will be quite sufficient.” 

^‘Oh, well then, we'll go and represent you,” said the 
young girl, eagerly ; and thus you will not be tired, and 
no one will be able to find any fault. ” 

There's a happy conclusion to arrive at. Miss Wisdom, 
and I am delighted to have given you such thorough sat- 
isfaction, ” said her father, smiling. shall take advan- 
tage of the opportunity to commence a chemical analysis 
which I have for some time put off in the fear of drawing 
reproaches upon my head. ” 

All I can say is that the last time you did anything of 
the kind, you blackened all the frames in the picture gal- 
lery, and made my clothes smell horrid for a fortnight af- 
terwards, ” said Aunt Isabelle, tartly. 

That's true, ” confessed the savant, humbly. ^‘In my 
preoccupation, I forgot to open the window, and I did 
spoil some of the gilding. But I'll be more careful this 
time. ” 

The tumult of the fair, interrupted for an hour by the 
mid-day meal, had ceased for a short time. A scorching 
sun blazed down upon town and fields alike, and even 
the birds in the trees of the promenade were silent from 
very drowsiness. Still, half way up the Clairefont hill, 
the sound of shouts and noisy laughter could be heard 
ever and again. These originated in Pourtois' large dining- 
room where every year Tondeur gave a lunch to his fellow- 
carpenters. It was customary to sing songs during the 
dessert which lasted far into the afternoon, and each one 
cheerfully doing his best,” as the wood-merchant said, 
the uproar of the choruses which were taken up by every- 
one present amidst the smoke of pipes and the fumes of 
alcoholic liquors, swelled now and then into a tremendous 
crescendo, which was followed for some moments by a 
deep silence, the voice of the soloist being lost in the 
distance. 

Seated near a window in the small drawing-room of the 


102 


ANTOINETTE. 


chateau, busy at some embroidery, Antoinette listened 
absently to these distant vociferations, as she watched be- 
side her father, who was taking his siesta stretched upon 
a sofa. Robert and Croix-Mesnil were walking up and 
down the terrace together, while Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice, armed with some long scissors, was clearing 
away the faded flowers from the vases. Suddenly the 
young count paused in his W'alk, and, looking his compan- 
ion full in the face, said : 

‘‘ If I were in your place, my dear fellow, I should speak 
to her straight out; there^s nothing worse than uncertain 
and false positions. It all depends on her. You know how 
much we all like you, and that if it had only needed our 
consent you would have been Antoinette’s husband long 
ago. But the young lady is perfectly free, and it’s no 
easy job to make her do the opposite of what she has de- 
cided. She is as good as an angel, but as obstinate as 
the devil, though no one would think it to look at her.” 

They were passing the window, near which the young 
girl was working, and they paused to look at her. Her 
head was bowed, and, unconscious of any observation, she 
was not attempting to conceal the deep melancholy that 
she felt. A sad smile was on her lips, and it was with 
difficulty that she restrained the tears from flowing from 
between her fluttering eyelids. Her dog, lying at her 
feet, raised his intelligent eyes to her as if he understood 
the emotion which had overpowered her, and touched 
her hand with his long nose. She looked at the deer-hound, 
wound her arms around his neck; then, unable to contain 
herself any longer, burst into tears. 

Grood heavens, she is crying ! ” said the baron excited- 
ly. ^‘Look at her, Robert. What does it mean ? What 
is going on ? I must question her, even though I risk 
displeasing her. ” 

He went up to the window to which his head hardly 
reached, and was just about to speak when Antoinette 
put her finger to her lips as a sign to him to be silent. 
He pointed to the park with a gesture of entreaty to her 
to come. She silently rose, and bestowing a glance upon 
her father, who was still sleeping and smiling at some 
happy dream, she left the room lightly as a sylph, and 
went out of doors. The baron offered her his arm, and 
they slowly walked down towards the park, A stone 
bench, still warm from the burning mid-day heat, stood 
beside the path, and the two turned and sat down on it. 

Antoinette saw that she could no longer put off answer- 
ing the questions her jianed had so considerately refrained 


ANTOINETTE. 


103 


from pressing for so long. She raised her wet eyes to 
his face, and seeing how troubled and anxious he looked, 
impulsively slipped her hand in his. Ho pressed it gent- 
ly within his own, and looking tenderly at her, asked 
Do you give it to me to keep ? ” 

She made no answer save a sad shake of the head. 

“Antoinette, dear,'" he resumed, have^ noticed a 
great change in your manner towards me for some 
time past. You greet me with constraint, you treat me 
coldly, and, though I have said nothing, it has deeply 
pained me. I am not demonstrative — you will never hear 
me, like some men whom I envy, pour out my feelings in 
fiery protestations; and I know that it is to my disadvantage 
that I cannot do so, that it makes me seem cold, and that 
I may be put down as being indifferent. But because my 
feelings are hidden, they are not the less deep; and you 
may always be sure that I am a man whose heart can never 
change. When I obtained from Monsieur de Clairefont and 
from yourself the hope that I might one day become your 
husband, it made me exceedingly happy ; I loved you; I 
knew how good and tender you were; for I had seen your 
behavior to your father, and I also knew that the man who 
called you his would be worthy the envy of all. And 
yet, when you put off the realization of our plans, what- 
ever was the grief I felt, I submitted to your will. I 
thought then that I could find no better way of proving 
my love for you than by my patience and fidelity. But 
now I ask myself if I was not at fault in my reasoning. 
Perhaps the outburst of a violent despair, the hot re- 
proaches of a wounded heart would have moved you 
more, and have induced you to yield. I did not think I 
ought to belie my nature, so I suffered in silence at the 
risk of being thought but very little in love ; and now to 
my bitter regret I cannot help thinking that I have grad- 
ually allowed the kindly feelings you had for me to fade 
away and die.” 

“ Do not think that,” interposed Mademoiselle de 
Clairefont. “ Do not think me guilty of forgetfulness any 
more than I do you of coldness. It is the force of fatal, 
lamentable circumstances alone which has done all. In 
one day, my position was so utterly changed that it was 
no longer right for me to consent to marry you. Had I 
told you the truth, you would have been compelled 
either to accept the situation as it was, or to withdraw 
your word under conditions you might have found hu- 
miliating ; and, out of consideration for you, I refused my 
consent. We have both played the same role, we have 


104 


ANTOINETTE. 


both displayed a similar sacrifice of self, a corresponding 
degree of honor, and we have both been but very ill re- 
warded ; since I see that you suffer, and that yet I can do 
nothing to console you.^' 

“ What ! nothing ? ” said the young man sadly. But 
what is the misfortune which is so serious that neither 
you nor I can do anything to remedy it ? Ah, the real, 
the only mischief is that you do not love me. If your 
heart were mine you would not have paid so much atten- 
tion to your reason.” 

“ I have a sincere affection for you, and one which will 
not change,” replied Antoinette. 

Yes, the affection of a sister. But that is not what I 
want from you.” 

“ It is an affection which prompted me to stretch out 
my hand to you with confidence and pleasure.” 

“ But one which has not been the strongest feeling in 
your heart, and which has sacrificed me — ” 

To an affection older and of longer standing, and 
which has more demands upon me — that I bear my 
father.” 

Didn't you already love him enough without this ? ” 
exclaimed the young man jealously. 

The affection a child feels for his father ought to know 
no limits,” returned the girl firmly. But have you not 
noticed, not understood what is going on here, that you 
are so persistent ? Have you not seen how for the last 
two years we have been sinking lower and lower towards 
utter ruin ? Has the painful comedy which we have 
played for the last two months for my father's sake 
escaped your eyes? By sacrifices innumerable we have 
hitherto satisfied every demand, but now it is all over. 
We can lay claim no longer to any part of our possessions 
—we could be turned out of here to-m6rrow. In fact we 
are expecting that to happen; for the man who is harassing 
us will be indexible. But of all this my father is yet in 
ignorance. It would have been of no use to show him 
the result of his faults since it was beyond his power to 
make reparation for them. He is simply an old baby 
whom we have spoiled, perhaps too much, but who would 
die if we were not there to make him live in an atmos- 
phere of fictitious happiness. You see I am answerable 
for his moral well-being. Can I consent to let you share 
my bondage ?” 

That is what I wished and what I still wish now. 
You are poor, you say ? Well, then, I have money enough 
for both of us. I will love your father as you love him 


ANTOINETTE. 


105 


yourself. He will not lose a daughter, he will gain an- 
other son to cherish and help him. With what I possess 
we will set his affairs straight, and then we shall have 
enough to restore your own fortune to you.” 

Never!” cried Mademoiselle de Clairefont. ‘^That 
is what I should dread above all things. You do not 
know the unconscious selfishness of an inventor. Con- 
vinced of the merit of his discovery he has no hesitation 
in sacrificing all to a chimerical future. My father has 
thrown gold into his crucibles, and what has he got in re- 
turn? Nothing but ashes. And should we drag you 
down with ourselves ? No, I should reproach myself as 
for a crime. We have the right to do ourselves as much 
injury as we like, hut to permit a stranger to become the 
victim of our errors is a thing to which I will never give 
my consent.” 

^‘As you know, you hurt me a great deal more by re- 
pelling my offers of assistance. But if you do not think 
of me, at least think a little of yourself. What is to be- 
come of you ? ” 

For a moment Antoinette sat thinking. Then, without 
any hesitation, she turned a face beaming with serenity 
to Monsieur de Croix-MesniPs gaze, and answered quietly: 

I shall be an old maid.” 

He opened his lips to entreat her, but she stopped him. 

Please do not say another word. Be generous, and 
do not add to my pain by showing me yours. I shall al- 
ways keep a tender recollection of you, but your duty 
now is to forget me. I give you back your word. Go 
to-morrow and tell your father all ; I am sure he will ap- 
prove my scruples and encourage you to do as I ask.” 

^‘And which it is impossible for me to promise to do. 
Do not demand more of me than I can reasonably per- 
form. Can you really have thought that I should consent 
to go away and not see you again ? ” 

I have not thought so, and I have even thought that 
your friendship would make up to me for all I lose by 
refusing to become your wife.” 

I shall be always ready to serve you, as you know, 
and I cannot thank you enough for having been so frank 
and true with me. But do not let either of us take a 
definite determination. Let us leave the future free. 
Who knows but what the situation may change and we 
may yet be able to return to the projects which were so 
dearto me? Do not say, 'Never;' say, ' For the present.' 
Leave me some hope. I shall cling to it, and it will help 
me to bear all the pain your decision causes me.” 


106 


ANTOINETTE. 


She rose without making any reply, and, taking the 
arm he offered, slowly returned to the terrace. 

Evening was drawing on and the valley beneath was 
veiled in a thin mist. The fete was approaching its 
height, and the noisy braying of a brass band rose above 
the murmurs of the crowd and floated up the hill. 

<‘How all those people are enjoying themselves,^' said 
Mademoiselle de Clairefont, pointing out to her compan- 
ion the outskirts of La Meuville, black with men, women 
and children. 

“ Well, they look as though they are, at any rate." 

We must do the same ; for no one must think that we 
are sad." 

The marquis came to meet them with Aunt Isabelle. 

“ Well, my children," said the old man, are there to 
be no more difficulties, and are you agreed ? " 

“ Yes, papa," answered Antoinette, serenely. ^^It is 
all arranged. You need not worry." 

She gave Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil a tender smile, and, 
pressing his hand between her own, tried to inspire him 
with some of her own courage and resignation. 

CHAPTEE YI. 

It was eight o'clock, and an excited, noisy throng was 
hastening into the ball-room which Pourtois had erected. 
For a space of about fifty yards long by fifty wide the 
grass had been covered with planks. An enormous tarpau- 
lin roof was supported by beams, on which were fastened 
painted cardboard shields bearing the monogram E. F." 
in the centre, and surrounded by flags. Five tin chande- 
liers covered with lamps and reflectors shed a strong light 
on the scene, and all around the vast tent were placed 
seats covered with red twill. At one end, on a narrow 
]3latform, sat the musicians, awaiting the signal from 
Pourtois to commence playing. At the other end, facing 
the entrance and separated from the rest of the room by 
a rail, was a dais reserved for the authorities, on which 
stood three velvet easy-chairs surrounded by smaller 
ones, beneath a plaster bust representing the Eepublic, 
which had been placed in a recess formed of green boughs. 
On the left side of the tent were doors communicating 
with the garden of the tavern, which was illuminated with 
Chinese lanterns, the heat from which was shrivelling up 
the branches and twigs of the arbors. 

Every now and then a dispute would arise, and the 


ANTOINETTE. 


107 


vociferations and yells sounded as if murder at least were 
going to be done. At such times, little Madame Pourtois 
would appear upon the scene, looking stiff and starched 
in her best dress. She had a formula which always 
brought the unruly to their senses, and it was this : 

If you want to kick up a row, go outside and do it — 
we want some room. Either you'll behave or you'll be 
turned out. We only have respectable people here." 

These decided and pointed words invariably reduced 
the most furious to obedience, especially as behind Madame 
Pourtois loomed the muscular form of her cousin Anastase, 
the slater from La Meuville, who came to help his rela- 
tions on special occasions, and who could carry a drunken 
man out of the inn as easily as pluck an apple from a tree. 

Pourtois, squeezed into a tight black frock-coat, and shin- 
ing with excitement and heat, trotted backwards and for- 
wards from the tent entrance to the groups already set- 
tled on the seats, showing the ladies to their places, 
smiling at their daughters and dexterously edging the 
fathers towards the inn. His high, shrill voice could be 
heard above all the uproar, and in his excitement the fat 
man actually wiped his forehead with the napkin he was 
carrying in his hand from habit. 

The men of most importance in the district, such as the 
rich farmers and the large millers, he placed at the foot 
of the official dais as they came in. Loud, hearty laughs 
of satisfaction pealed out at each arrival, the men shaking 
each other by the hand as if nothing short of a dislocated 
shoulder would be a sufficient demonstration of their 
friendly feelings, and the women putting on a mincing 
air with an affectation of the highest breeding. The girls 
kissed one another effusively, turning pale with vexation 
if they found their dresses put in the shade by the supe- 
rior elegance of a rival's costume. They gathered to- 
gether in a little group where they strove to outdo each 
other in gossip and ill-natured remarks about the people 
as they came in, and the most malicious slanders were ut- 
tered by these innocent-looking lips. 

Ah, how glad I am to see you, dear! Do just look at 
Mademoiselle Delarue; isn't she a sight this evening! 
And her mother looks as if she had just come out of an 
old rag-bag ! ” 

Oh, don't talk about her. They say that young 
Levasseur, who was to have married her, has got out of 
it. The Delarues are at very low water just now ; they've 
even sold half their cattle. " 

Ah, here's Yeronique Auclair! Did you ever see 


108 


ANTOINETTE. 


such feet? How can she be so silly as to wear white 
shoes when she has feet like those ! ” 

The Leglorieux have come. Do you see them — at the 
other end of the room, on the left-hand side ? That great 
Felicie will crick her neck if she tosses her horse's head 
so much." 

You know that they talk about a match between her 
and Monsieur Carvajan's son ? " 

Nonsense ! She is not rich enough. Why, the mayor 
of La Neuville has hundreds of thousands — heTl want a 
daughter-in-law from Paris. Oh, here he is coming in 
with his son." 

Pourtois hurried to meet his patron, pushing everybody 
out of his way and doing the honors of the ball with a 
courtier-like empressement. He wished to lead Carvajan to 
the dais, but the banker, who looked gloomier than usual, 
put the huge inn-keeper aside, and taking Pascal, who 
was walking behind him, by the arm, persisted in mixing 
with the other guests. 

‘^Presently, Pourtois, presently. It's all right, my 
friend ; don't you trouble about me. I want to walk 
round with my son. There will be plenty of time for me 
to appear in my official capacity." 

Carvajan's motive for this conduct was solely a desire to 
show Pascal the importance he now possessed. He wanted 
him to see how even the wealthiest bowed and cringed be- 
fore him. In short, he longed to display himself to his 
son in all the terrible grandeur of his power. 

You must renew your acquaintance with the people 
you have not seen for ten years, my boy," he said. It 
will not do for you to stand apart looking as if you were 
totally unaccustomed to civilization. I hope you will 
show a smiling face to all these old friends who can re- 
member your mother and will talk to you of her." 

A pang shot through Pascal's heart at the words, and 
the pale face of his dead mother came before his eyes. 
She — ^the poor woman banished to the back of the gloomy 
house, where she had languished and faded away like a 
flower left without sun or air — she had friends who still 
remembered her! What bitter derision, or, rather, what 
incredible audacity I Had Carvajan so utterly forgotten 
the past that he was able to speak of his martyred wife 
without fear of evoking dangerous thoughts in his son's 
mind ? ^ Friends, these men and women around him 
dressed intheir Sunday best, pretentious, coarse, grotesque 
and offending all the delicacy of his cultured mind ! 
What could he and they ever have in common ? 


ANTOINETTE. 


109 


As he moved up the room, his father presented them to 
him, complacently enumerating the possessions and quali- 
ties of each one, reckoning up their incomes and valuing 
their influence. Every hand was stretched toward the 
mayor, and if Pascal could read a certain constraint in the 
eyes of some, the apparent warmth with which his father 
was always greeted told clearly of the servility in which 
the tyrant of La Neuville kept all his subjects. 

To the rich and important, Carvajan was especially ab- 
rupt, cold and haughty. He felt an intense pleasure in 
making the largest landed pToprietors of the canton feel the 
weight of his heavy hand, an^, in spite of himself, Pascal 
could not help admiring the pride of this who, 

risen from so low a sphere, now ruled all those who had 
formerly regarded him with contempt. They crowded 
round him, flattering and paying every deference to him. 

Dear Monsieur Carvajan, what a very nice young 
man your son is ! Shall we not one day have the pleas- 
ure of seeing you both at our house ? You know that 
there you will be as if you were in your own home.'^ 

The banker did not pause before any group, but when 
he reached the Dumontiers and Leglorieux, he stopped 
and made a few pleasant remarks. He stood surrounded 
by his courtiers, and that part of the tent was crowded 
while everywhere else the people were able to circulate 
freely. Carvajan glanced haughtily around at his attend- 
ants^ then turned to Pascal. 

We seem to be somewhat closely surrounded,^^ he said. 
And for the first time that evening there came a curve on 
his lip which might be taken for a smile. 

Is it not so wherever you are, my dear Carvajan ex- 
claimed old Leglorieux, flatteringly. 

Parbleu ! and if all his future electors were here, there 
would indeed be a crowd,^^ added the banker's brother-in- 
law, Dumontier. 

Oh, to contain them, it would need the square before 
the mayoralty, and that wouldn't be large enough," put 
in Fleury, who had just arrived. Fleury, clean-shaven, 
his refractory hair plastered with pomade, which made it 
shine like so much wire, his shirt already rumpled and his 
white tie twisted like a c'ord, looked yet more repulsive in 
his evening dress than in his ordinary attire. His lips 
were constantly parted in the horrible smile which dis- 
played his black teeth, and he did all in his power to at- 
tract the attention of Pascal, who was standing motionless 
and silent. 

‘‘ Ah, speaking of electors, wo must begin to think 


110 


ANTOINETTE. 


about the approaching elections/' resumed the elder Du- 
montier. “ The dissolution of the General Council takes 
place this year, and I suppose we are going to arrange so 
that we sha'n't be taken in as we were seven years ago." 

“Begging your pardon, Monsieur Dumontier," said 
Pourtois, venturing to join in the convei'sation ; “but if 
his worship will stand this time I'll answer for the result. 
I have Clairefont, Couvrechamps, La Saucelle and Pier- 
reval all ready to follow my lead, without mentioning the 
suburbs of La Neuville. Tondeur answers for the votes 
of the wood-cutters, and as for the valley, that's your and 
Monsieur Leglorieux' affair. Only let us mind what we 
are about and we shall have a big majority — and I know 
what 1 am talking about. The old owl up yonder has 
nothing left him but to get out of his nest." 

“And after that will come the election for deputy," 
added Fleury. “All in good time." 

Carvajan's tanned face became a sombre red. His eyes 
gleamed beneath his thick gray eyebrows, and for a mo- 
ment his heart throbbed wildly. But he was far too much 
master of himself to allow his joy to be seen. He gave 
a careless gesture, and answered coldly: 

“We shall see about it. The present moment is an ill- 
chosen one to form such plans, and, besides, we must 
expect opposition." 

And he glanced towards the opposite corner of the ball- 
room, where the representatives of the provincial aristoc- 
racy had instinctively gathered together, apart from the 
plebeian throng. 

Madame de Saint-Andre had just arrived with her son 
and three daughters. The old Marquis do Couvrechamps, 
who had commanded the mobile troops during the war, 
and had displayed so much decision at the battle of Buchy, 
sat surrounded by several of his former soldiers, who 
were now steady-going family men, but who delighted to 
remember the days of hardship and danger now that they 
enjoyed peace and security. The little Yiscount d'Eden- 
nemare was paying marked attention to young Madame 
Tourette, whose husband — a Paris stock-broker ^ — had 
recently bought the magnificent estate of La Barellerie, 
situated a couple of miles from La Heuville, while the 
Dowager Baroness de Saint-Croix was the centre of a 
little circle which she was delighting tvith her conversation. 

There was a violent contrast between the group over 
which Carvaj an reigned so triumphantly, and that formed 
by the large estate owners of the district. On the one 
side, everyone had dressed as for a grand ceremony, on 


ANTOINETTE. 


m 


the other, everyone had alfected extreme simplicity. The 
one showed that the ball was the one opportunity of 
amusement that was open to them. The others, that they 
had only come to look on for a short time,and, as Madame 
de Saint-Andre said, to honor the fete with their presence. 

Pascal, indifferent to all that was going on around him, 
deaf to the flattery of his father^s partisans and blind to 
their smiles, was leaning carelessly against one of the sup- 
ports of the tent, vainly seeking amidst the rival faction 
for her who was the centre of all his thoughts. He soon 
attracted the a-ttention of the Baroness de Saint-Croix, 
who leaned towards the young and elegant Monsieur 
Tourette, and asked : 

Who is that handsome man over there amongst the 
crowd of Monsieur Carvajan^s courtiers ? ” 

“ He is his son ; did you not know ? ” 

^^Eeally? I should never have thought it. He looks 
quite a gentleman.” 

And not only that, but he is a man of true merit,” 
went on the stock-broker. “ He was recently chosen to 
smooth away the difii cullies which had arisen between 
Nicaragua and the Panama Canal Company, and it ap- 
pears that he acquitted himself excellently well.” 

He seems to resign himself to boredom in quite a 
superior way.” 

He does everything in a superior way.” 

At this moment there was a general movement, and all 
heads were turned towards the entrance. The sub-prefect 
had arrived, accompanied by his secretary. Pourtois 
hurried to meet him, and led him with many bows to Car- 
vaj an, whose was greatly increased by the defer- 

ence shown him by the Government authority. 

At this moment, indeed, the mayor seemed king of the 
fete. It was he to whom everyone turned his attention, 
and none to whom he had uttered a command would have 
dared to disobey. At a sign from Pourtois the music 
struck up, and all the openings leading into the garden 
were at once crowded with spectators watching, glass in 
hand, this animated picture. 

Carvajan had just gone half the round of the tent when 
the blue and white striped curtain which hung before the 
entrance was raised, and Eobert de Clairefont entered 
with his sister on his arm. Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice and Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil followed about 
twenty paces behind the two, and, as if fate had chosen to 
show the relative strength of the antagonists, the children 
of the marquis stood alone, opposite Carvajan surrounded 


112 


ANTOINETTE. 


"by all those who, either from hatred or interest, were 
ready to support him. 

Pascal was seized with a terrible dread as he saw them 
facing each other like adversaries on the eve of combat. 
His heart stopped beating, and for some seconds his very 
being was concentrated in his eyes. He longed for the 
whole room to fall to ruin, he tried to imagine some sud- 
den interference which would prevent the situation from 
being sustained to the dreaded end. He thought of rush- 
ing to his father, whom he could see sneering with an air 
of bravado, of seizing him and dragging him away. Any- 
thing seemed preferable to what appeared inevitable. 

After a slight, momentary pause, the two groups had 
again resumed their onward course. Eobert, his head held 
well erect, did not deviate an inch from his path. He was 
walking straight towards Carvajan, and on his determined 
face his resolution not to give way a step was plainly 
marked. Antoinette, who had suddenly turned very pale, 
was vainly pressing her hrother's arm and trying to di- 
rect his steps' away from the official party, but Eobert in 
his power, drew her along with him without an effort. 
Carvajan, his face dark with hatred, and his head low- 
ered like a bull about to rush upon his victim, came 
steadily on. 

Eobert, please dofft,'^ whispered Antoinette. 

<^Do not interfere,^" returned the young count between 
his clenched teeth. He will give way to us, or I will 
walk over his body."^ 

A deadly silence had fallen on the room, and the encoun- 
ter, of which it would have been impossible to tell the 
consequences, was on the point of taking place, when, 
quite innocently, the sub-prefect saved the situation. 
Catching sight of Antoinette, who was now close to him, 
he made a gesture of admiration, and stepped aside from 
the mayor with a polite bow, leaving the way clear. 
Antoinette, who had been suffering agonies, breathed 
again as she saw an open path before her, and she could 
not help bestowing a grateful smile upon the official. 
Then, passing beside Carvajan, who was trembling with 
•suppressed rage, she hastened towards the corner where 
all her father’s friends were gathered. 

Carvajan had turned round. He heard a deep sigh 
close to his ear, and looking up saw Pascal, pale from the 
einotion he had just passed through. 

^<Who is that charming young lady?” asked the sub- 
prefect, putting on his eye-glasses to see her better. 

‘‘ She is Mademoiselle de Clairefont,” answered Carva- 


ANTOINETTE. 


113 


jan with sombre sarcasm. ^^And you have just accorded 
her a flattering reception she was very far from expect- 
ing, sir.^' 

Oh, pshaw! She^s a pretty woman,'' answered his 
conipanion gayly. I am ready to fight the father on 
political ground, but, in the meantime, I claim the right 
to admire the daughter." 

Don't express your admiration too openly, though, 
unless you want to find yourself mixed up in a quarrel 
with the young boor who is with her. There, see what 
he is doing now." 

When he reached the little group formed by the nobil- 
ity, Kobert had looked round to find seats for his aunt 
and sister, but the benches were already over-crowded. 
The Dowager Baroness de Saint-Croix had taken up her 
position in a corner beside the oflicial dais and was doing 
her utmost to persuade Mademoiselle de Clairefont and 
her aunt to stay near her. Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil was 
just talking of bringing in a couple of chairs from the 
garden, when Robert, noticing the chairs set out for the 
notabilities of La [N’euville, said aloud : 

^^Ah, here's just what we want. Are ladies to put up 
with rush and cane seats when the Corporation lounges 
on velvet? That's very unlikely." 

And reaching over the rail, he took the two chairs 
standing next the principal arm-chair. 

The others gave a stifled laugh at this act of audacity. 
Pourtois, dumb with awed amazement, looked alternately 
at the mayor and young count, hesitating between his de- 
sire to please Carvajan and his fear of angering Robert. 
The rest stood in silence, wondering whether their chief 
was going to allow himself to be thus openly braved. 

I think it behooves us to set an example of modera- 
tion and patience," said Carvajan; ^^for if we took any 
notice of Monsieur de Clairefont's provocations, conflicts 
might result which would cast a shadow over 'the fete. 
Therefore let us regard his acts as if they had not taken 
place. ' Besides " he added in a lower voice, ^^his deplor- 
able habits of intemperance have slightly impaired his 
intellect, and he is not always master of himself." 

It looks bad to see the dais empty when all the rest of 
the room is crowded," said the sub-prefect. Could it 
not be occupied by some ladies ? " 

Yes, you are right." 

Fleury and Pourtois had already hurried away, and 
were now escorting Madame .Dumontier and Madame 
Leglorieux to the empty chairs, to those worthy dames' 

8 


114 


ANTOINETTE, 


infinite delight. 

There^s a good move/^ remarked Madame de Saint- 
Croix sarcastically. Now they're in their right place.” 

“ Suppose we go and pay our attentions to Madame 
Dumontier ? ” proposed handsome young d'Edennemare. 

‘‘ Dumontier's grandfather paid enough attention to us, 
when he was my mother's servant,” said Madame de Saint- 
Andr6, sharply. 

“ It is as the Marechale Lefebvre said, under the First 
Empire ; ‘ Now we are the princesses ! ' ” 

These women from La Neuville are too awful,” said 
Eobert. And turning to the young men standing around 
him: “Shall we pay them back by asking the little peas- 
ant-girls to dance, and leading off the ball with them ? ” 

“Well, some of them are pretty enough to make it any- 
thing but a sacrifice,” said Tourctte, staring through his 
eye-glass at Eose Chasseveut who was just coming in, fol- 
lowed by Eoussot. 

Attired in her best, the girl walked down the room 
with easy, smiling grace. She was wearing a dress of 
sateen covered with sprays of flowers, open in the front 
and finished off with a little muslin fichu knotted on the 
breast with blue ribbons. The sleeves reached only to 
the elbow, where they were met by the long mittens 
which covered her plump round arms. She had not an 
ornament or even a flower in her fair hair, and in her 
hand she carried the scarf which she had worn over her 
head to come to the ball. 

The shepherd, as dazzled by the bright light as an owl 
at mid-day, walked close behind her. All his clothes 
were bran new, as he had told Eose they would be, and 
his gray alpaca blouse was fastened with a silver clasp. 
Ho had made a most careful toilette^ and his red hair, 
which generally hung wild about him, was parted on his 
forehead, giving an expression at once grotesque and 
frightful to his freckled face. 

“But who is the monster who keeps so close beside 
her ? ” asked Viscount d'Edennemare. 

“ Our shepherd. An idiot who has been brought up on 
the farm,” replied Eobert. 

“ What a fun^y page for her to choose ! ” 

^ Eose, seeing Antoinette, came up to her and smilingly 
listened to the compliments her young mistress p^^id her 
upon her appearance. 

“ But it's one of your own dresses I have on, made- 
moiselle. Don't you know it again? You gave it to mo 
last spring. Of course I've altered it ; a girl in my posi- 


ANTOINETTE. 


115 


tion can^t wear things made like her betters'. But it 
suits me, doesn't it, and it still looks nice." 

‘‘It is you that sets it off, " said Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font, with an indulgent smile. “ There, child, go and en- 
joy yourself, but don't stay dancing too late, because, you 
know, I shall want you to morrow morning. " 

“ Oh, don't fear, mademoiselle, I sha’n't be a minute be- 
hind time. " 

“ And don't keep your shepherd dangling at your heels 
all the evening, cried Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice. 
“ That fellow's e-nough to frighten off all your partners." 

“ I am going to give him into my father's care, made- 
moiselle." 

“And he'll make him drink, and then in about an 
hour's time he won't know his right hand from his left. " 

“Oh, I think he will, " answered the girl with a smile. 
“And besides, what does it matter, as long as he leaves 
me alone ? Still, I’ve promised to dance once with him, 
and I must keep my word. " 

Then she went away, while all the men looked after 
her, captivated by the charm of her glowing youth. 

Antoinette sat silent and thoughtful in the midst of all 
the animation, the heat and the tumult. Twice already 
Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil had made some remark to her, 
and had hardly received any answer. 

The first face she had scon on entering the room had 
been Pascal's. She had seen him blanch when Carvajan 
and Eobert had so nearly come into personal contact, and 
she knew that he had shared her dread. The knowledge 
that he had participated in her anxiety had left a deep 
impression upon her. Was he her companion in misfor- 
tune? Ought she not, unless she wished to be unjust, to 
except him from the hatred which she had vowed towards 
all who bore the name of Carvajan ? 

She timidly raised her eyes and looked round for him. 
He was standing with folded arms, and looking as sad 
amidst all this revelry, he the son of the victor, as she, 
the daughter of the vanquished ; and she wondered what 
could be passing through his mind. 

As if he had felt that Mademoiselle de Clairefont's at- 
tention was fixed on him, Pascal raised his head, and their 
eyes met. He at once turned his aside, after a bow so 
respectful that it was almost a prostration. Then he 
slowly moved away and disappeared, as if to convey the 
meaning: “You hate me, but I reverence you. My 
presence may cause you annoyance or displeasure; there- 
fore I will remain out of sight." What better could he 


116 


ANTOINETTE. 


do, since he had no right to approach her, than to testify 
his fervent adoration from a distance? There was more 
real devotion in this voluntary self-effacement than in the 
most impassioned prostrations. 

A nudge from her aunt brought the young girl back to 
a sense of her surroundings. The noise in the tent had 
increased. Couples hurried by, stopping to engage in 
animated converse with those they met. On the da’is 
Carvajan was st^^^ng beside Madame Leglorieux, eagerly 
scanning the mo^^n^ crowd, and Felicie, crimson to the 
middle of her chest, was impatiently tapping her foot. 

Where the deuce can the boy have got to ?^' muttered 
the mayor. “ He was hero not ffve minutes ago.” 

Yes, and he didn^t look as if he was enjoying himself, 
either,” added the heiress of the Leglorieux, spitefully. 

^^Ho doubt he thought the dancing was being delayed 
too long,” insinuated Fleury. ^<Wait a second; Fll find 
him.” And the magistrate’s clerk hurried outside. 

‘‘ They are taking their places for the first quadrille,” 
said Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice to her niece. 
think you ought to dance it.” 

May I have the honor of this dance, mademoiselle? ” 
asked the elegant Tourette. 

I am sorry, sir,” answered Antoinette, “ but it is the 
only time I shall dance, and I have promised Monsieur de 
Croix-Mesnil.” 

Well, it is his right,” assented the stock-broker. I 
will ask one of the Saint-Andres to take pity on me, for 
I can’t in decency dance with my wife.” 

Thank you a thousand times for the favor you have 
bestowed upon me, dear Antoinette,” whispered Monsieur 
de Croix-Mesnil. ‘‘ But are you so kind and sweet only 
to make yourself the more keenly regretted ?” 

Mademoiselle de Clairefont smiled and placed her finger 
on her lips; then, taking her partner’s arm, she took her 
place just before her aunt with Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Andre and the stock-broker on the one side and Yiscount 
d’Edennemare and Madame Tourette on the other. 

The dancers were forming into two lines the whole 
length of the room. As the couples in turn found them- 
selves top and bottom, they advanced to the centre and 
changed partners, thus mingling in momentary fraterni- 
zation every rank and condition present. This dance had 
been the custom for generations past, and it often hap- 
pened that the lord of the manor stood opposite his 
smallest tenant, and the lady of the chateau had the 
farmer’s daughter for her vis-a-vis. 


ANTOINETTE. 


117 


Once this opening quadrille over, everyone was free to 
amuse himself as he pleased, and the ball became the 
scene of a violent animation which, thanks to repeated 
libations, often became a sort of bacchanalia. This wild 
scene was well known, and, about nine or ten o'clock, 
when the mode of enjoyment began to get more ardent 
and more rough, the ladies from the chateau and the 
tradesmen's wives from the town went away with their 
daughters, leaving the rest to make merry -with a fury 
impossible to control. 

But for the present the dancers were serious, orderly 
and a little constrained. The men chatted in low tones 
and the women spent the time, until the signal should be 
given to commence, in smoothing down the pleats of their 
dresses and in drawing themselves up and giving them- 
selves the coquettish airs of young pigeons. Feet were 
already tapping the floor in their impatience to begin, 
but opposite Atoinette, who happened to stand in the 
centre of the line, one place was still empty. 

Robert, who was standing near his aunt, was looking 
vaguely round in search of some one to be his sister's 
vis-a-vis, when Pascal, with the triumphant Mademoiselle 
Leglorieux on his arm, appeared, looking very embar- 
rassed and as if he regarded his task as one extremely 
distasteful to him. Fleury was guiding him through the 
crowd. When he reached the vacant place the clerk 
turned towards the dais and cast a questioning look at 
Carvajan. The latter made an imperious gesture, as if 
to say: ^‘Yes, that is where I intend him to stand." 
Then Fleury stepped back from before Pascal, leaving 
him opposite Mademoiselle de Clairefont. Pascal's knees 
shook under him, his sight grew dim. Then a hand was 
laid on Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil's arm, and Robert's 
voice was heard saying in loud, firm tones : 

Come back to your seat, my dear fellow. My sister 
will not dance." 

Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil looked at his friend in amaze- 
ment, and not understanding what Robert meant: 

What is the matter ?" he asked, amidst a profound si- 
lence. 

The matter is that the man who has just taken the 
place opposite you is the son of Monsieur Carvajan," re- 
plied Robert. 

‘<Ah? That is indeed annoying," said Monsieur de 
Croix-Mesnil, in the calmest tones. 

He glanced coldly at Pascal, who had turned livid, and 
bowing to Antoinette as though to ask her pardon for 


118 


AN^OiNETl’E. 


kaving involuntarily Exposed her to a degrading contact: 

Forgive me, mademoiselle/' he said. Then he led her 
back to her seat. 

The mayor, who was still standing, looked at this 
strange spectacle as if he doubted its reality. Could it be 
possible that he had received such an affront in public-— 
so crushing a reply to his insolent provocation? Were 
these Clairefonts really making a display of haughtiness 
when he thought to have them at his mercy ? He 
trembled with rage, and his yellow eyes glittered like a 
tiger's in the darkness. He turned towards those sur- 
rounding him, and his eyes met nothing but countenances 
expressive of gloomy constraint. He looked at his son, 
and saw him mad with excitement, full of a wild longing 
to avenge himself, and yet dismayed at the thought that 
the man on whom he would wreak bis vengeance must be 
either the brother or the JidncS of Antoinette. 

Mademoiselle Leglorieux happily found a means of 
lessening the tension of the situation. Her eyes opened 
to their fullest extent, she turned from white to red, from 
red to white, uttered a piercing scream, and, throwing 
herself into her mother's arms, gave way to a fit of 
hysterics which relicY^d her from the necessity of making 
a clearer statemeiit of her opiniongi 

At the same moment the orchestra struck up loudly 
with the first bars of the quadrille, and the two lines of 
dancers, delighted at the relief froril their painful con- 
straint, advanced and retired amidst a cloud of dust. 

Antoinette, seated beside her aunt, had no time to realize 
what had happened. She found herself at once sur- 
rounded by her friends, and obliged to listen to a concert 
of exclamations and commentaries, which blended into a 
tumultuous buzz like that of a hive in uproar, while the 
men stood grave and silent beside Robert and Monsieur 
de Croix-Mesnil. 

The commotion on the official dais was no less. The 
mayor had just left it, and, heedless of Madame Le- 
gloricux's lamentations, had hastened towards Pascal, who 
had remained standing like a statue a little behind the 
dancers, and was watching with unseeing eyes the long 
line advancing and retreating in measured time. The 
sound of the instruments rang in his ears with a blatant 
noise which stunned him; and in the confusion of his 
mind the same thought returned to him over and over 
again : ‘‘You have been insulted because of her and in 
her presence." Then his hands clenched tightly, and he 
resolutely determined not to remain passive beneath the 


ANTOINETTE. 11 9 

outrage. He must make some one answer for it. But 
whom? Eobert? It was he who had spoken the words, 
it was he who had caused this public scandal. And yet 
it was the other whom he hated, the one who had coldly 
acquiesced. And he longed to go to this calm, high-born 
man and strike him, and to risk his life against his. 

Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil had Antoinette on his arm 
when the insult was uttered, and his smile was yet more 
insolent than EoberVs words. And besides, was he not 
\\QY fiance. Ah, that was the real motive for Pascals fiery 
thoughts, that was what had brought this pallor to his 
cheek. He was tortured by jealousy still more acutely 
than by anger. He wanted to show Mademoiselle de 
Clairefont that he was also proud and to be feared. 

He felt some one take his arm and try to lead him 
away, and looking up he saw his father. 

Do not stay here,^^ said Carvajan. Come with me.^' 

But Pascal resisted, saying in a voice that shook : 

Leave me alone. All is not yet finished. I will not 
leave this room.'' 

What do you intend to do ? " 

Do you think I am the man to endure such an insult 
and not demand reparation ?" 

You are mad I " 

Then you advise me to slink away and be thought a 
coward by everyone here ? " 

Carvajan's face assumed a terrible expression. He 
pressed his son's arm yet more closely. 

to %kt with those men ? You are mad, 

I tell you. Leave me 

‘'•111 j 

way will be more sure and more px. 

More sure and more prompt!" exclaimed his son. 

You will see 1 " 

The quadrille had come to an end, and the men were 
leading their partners back to their seats. Pascal strode 
towards the circle, in the midst of which were standing 
Eobert and Monsieur Croix-Mesnil, and approached 
Madowioisello <lo Cleiirofont'? fiance so closely that his 
chest almost touched his shoulder. 

Sir," he said, with an insolent look in his eyes, his 
hands working nervously, I have a few words to say to 
you. Would you be so kind as to step aside a moment?" 

The baron bowed, and was just about to follow Carva- 
jan's son, when Eobert barred the way. 

Gently, gehtly," he said with a sneer. I fancy there 
is a mistake. It is not with you, my dear fellow, that 
the gentleman has to deal, but with me. You only ceded 


120 


ANTOINETTE 


to my wishes. It was I who said — 

I did not hear your words, and 1 do not wish to notice 
them,"' interrupted Pascal, fiercely. It was this gentle- 
man who insulted me. It is he alone I deem responsible.’^ 

‘‘Oh, well, there is one way at least of settling the 
question,” exclaimed the young count, and drawing back 
a pace he was on the point of committing some act of vio- 
lence, when his sister stepped, pale and trembling, between 
him and his opponent. 

“ Eobert, please go away,” she said gently. 

“ But — ” he expostulated. 

Two tears fell Irom the girl’s eyes and were at once 
dried on her burning cheeks. She stretched out her hand 
in a gesture of queenly authority. 

“ § 0 ,” she repeated. And as the young man gave way 
and obeyed her, she turned to Pascal and said ; 

“ You are perfectly right, sir. Eeparation is due to 
you. I was the cause of the insult you have received— I 
should apologize. Will you bo so good as to forgive me?” 

Carvaj ail’s son saw her bow before l;iim. He tried to 
speak, but his lips only moved without articulating a 
sound j and, far more deeply hurt by Antoinette’s proud 
humility than he had been by Eobert’s insolence, he 
staggered away. 

“ Where are you going ? ” asked his father, meeting him 
at the door. “ Eem^mber what you said but a moment 
ago. Do you wish to look as if you were running away ? ” 

“ Ah, what do I care ? ” cried the young man, continu- 
ing to move onwards to the darkness outside, as if he 
longed to hide his despair. 

“Do you not wish for revenge ? ” said Carvaj an as they 
reached the road. “ Speak but the word, and I will put 
all those who have outraged you at your mercy.” 

“Never!” 

“ Then what do you intend to do ?” 

“ To go away. To leave forever, this time, the land 
where I find nothing but strife and bitterness. To go far 
from these struggles, these quarrels, these snares and 
treacheries. To fiirget all, even the name that you have 
made so heavy a burden for me to bear. ” 

“ Pascal I ” 

“ Father, you have sworn hatred, and therefore I must 
not be astonished if we are insulted and scorned. But I 
could not live thus. I prefer to go away. ” 

“ It will be said that you were afraid. ” 

“Very well.” 

“ Then you will desert me ? ” 


ANTOINETTE. 


121 


You do not need me, father. You have given ample 
proof of that. 

Then it is I who will cling to you, said Carvajan, 
slipping his arm under his son^s. ‘‘ You want to go home 
— let us go. To-morrow, when you are calmer, we will 
discuss matters. 

And turning their backs on the dancing-tent, the two 
men started in the direction of La Neuville. 

Inside the tent, the excitement caused by Mademoiselle 
de ClairefonVs interference had not yet subsided. Made- 
moiselle de Saint-Maurice, who at the first had been sim- 
ply petrified, had at last regained her senses, and, turning 
a face as black as any thunder-cloud towards her niece, 
she muttered : 

‘‘And pray what is the meaning of all this ? Are you 
going mad ? Here are you being all that is polite to this^ 
young rogue, when he deserved a thorough good lesson 
for his impertinence. 

“Ho, aunt, no. It is we who have been wrong all 
through. We should not have come here, where we knew 
we could expect nothing but unkindness. And, above 
all, we ought not to have provoked that young man^ — 

“ But didn^t you see that old knave, his father, laugh- 
ing in anticipation at the good joke he was preparing, by 
exposing you to stand face to face with his son V* 

But Antoinette sadly shook her head. 

“Do not let us attack this man; we cannot come off 
victorious. Let us give way — it is the best thing to do.^' 

She turned towards the door, leaning heavily on Croix- 
Mesnif s arm and looking thoroughly exhausted. Aunt 
Isabelle followed with Eobert. When they reached the 
carriage, which old Bernard had waiting for them. Made- 
moiselle de Clairefont tried to make her brother get in 
with them; but he refused, saying he did not feel inclined 
to return home yet. 

“ What are you going to do V* asked Antoinette, filled 
with anxiety. 

“ What I do every year at the ball — enjoy myself, in 
spite of that spoil-sport, Carvajan.^^ 

“ Promise me that you will not re-commence the quar- 
rel. Oh, do come with us ! You make me feel so nervous; 
it seems as though some misfortune is going to happen. 

“Little one,^' Eobert said, “I think you interfere a 
great deal too much with what does not concern you. Go 
home to bed and §leep soundly; that's the best thing 
for a child of your age. /)S to the way in which I ought 
to act^ it is already traced out ; and your advice will not 


122 ANTOINETTE. 

have the slightest effect. ITow, good-night.'^ 

He put his arm round his sister's waist, lifted her up as 
if she were a feather, kissed her, and placed her inside the 
carriage. He shut the carriage door, told the coachman, 
to drive on ; then, softly whistling, walked across the inn 
garden to the dancing-room. In the garden the rustics 
were enjoying themselves with perfect freedom from all 
constraint or mock modesty. There they sat, in the warm 
, night air, through which fled the bats, brushing as they 
passed, the Chinese lanterns which shone forth amidst 
the verdure; drinking, and shouting at the top of their 
voices and thumping the tables with all the might of their 
clenched fists. 

Robert went on his way, and had almost reached the 
ball-room when he heard someone calling to him from an 
arbor where the Chinese lanterns had been put out. Illu- 
mined only by the flame from an immense bowl of punch. 
Messieurs d'Edennemare, de Saint-Andrb and some more 
of the young count's friends were seated round a table. 

^‘All the ladies are gone. Don't go into the tent; it is 
stifling." 

I have still something to do there." 

If you are looking for the mayor and his son, they have 
just left." 

^^Hevermind, I mean to show myself so that all the 
rabble who stand up for Carvajan may be well aware that 
I don't mean to give way an inch." 

Oh, my dear fellow, they know that already. Come 
and sit down with us." 

But Robert was already inside the tent. 

The aspect of the ball had materially changed within 
the last few moments. The departure of the “ quality," 
as the’ were termed, had put an end to allre- 
istraint, and now everyone was enjoying himself in the 
Way he thought best. The couples had thrown aside 
affected propriety, arms were held tightly round 
yielox'.’^^ waists, a,nd the orchestra itself, as if infected with 
the genera* quicker and quicker and louder 

and louder, as were a struggle as to which would win 
the day— the iun^S of the musicians or the legs of the 
dancers. 

The young count sougi?t Wnly for Carvajan and Pas- 
cal. As his friends had told him, they had left the place 
The sub-prefect, thinking that he had made sufficient 
sacrifice to his popularity, had also gone back to La ISTeu- 
ville, accompanied by the comraissaire central and the 
.captain of the gendarmerie, Robert walked slowly round 


ANTOINETTE. 


123 


the tent, passing in and out among the ditferent groups, 
and finding a delight in boldly meeting the glances of all. 
The ascendant still exercised by the Clairefont family, in 
spite of its well known decadence, caused most heads to 
bow as the young man went by, and, as Carvajan was not 
there to see, people bestowed their best smiles upon his 
opponent. 

After all, how could anyone fell what might happen? 
Several times, during the last fe^^ years, the marquis had 
been said to be on the eve of utter ruin, and, yet, he was 
still afloat. It was as well to leave a way of escape, in case 
this tiresome old man, who died so hard, should yet find 
a means of getting out of the banker's clutches. 

And besides, Fleury and Tondeur, Carvajan's faithful 
followers, were setting the example, and were out-doing 
themselves in polite attentions to the young count; and it 
was in the full enjoyment of this false triumph that 
Eobert^s friends found him, when they returned to the ball- 
room to carry out their plans of dancing a little with the 
pretty peasants. 

A sort of local bourrie, quick and lively as a farandole, 
was just drawing to an end, and amongst the maddest 
dancers Boussot was distinguishing himself by the wild 
fury with which he bounded and leaped. He had per- 
suaded Eose to dance it with him, and he was carrying 
her along as if she were a feather^ while his supple body 
BWayed, and his strong pliant limbs bent flexibly beneath 
him. Se whirled round and round, leaping and spring- 
ing regardless bf all time or rhythm, with pale cheeks^ 
gleaming eyes and clenched teeth, while in the intoxica- 
tion of this totally novOl pleasure the muscles of his face 
contrasted until he looked slaHlingly horrible* 

Eose, dazed by the rapidity of’ her partner's movements 
and the furious bursts of music, let herself go, and lay 
half fainting with her head on Eoussot's shoulder as he 
hurried her along, at once superb and terrible. 

Gradually the breathing became heavier, the feet lost 
their lightness, and the music grew slower and slower un- 
til the instruments ceased to play, and with a sigh of re- 
lief the couples stopped and threw themselves onto the 
benches like a ship-wrecked crew reaching the land. The 
shepherd alone still continued his wild career, holding 
Eose as tightly as ever, and apparently indefatigable. 

“ Isn't he mad on it? cried Tondeur. “He won't stop. 
He'd go on like that until this time to-morrow." 

But, even as he was speaking, Eobert caught Eose as 
she passed, snatched her from her partner's arms, and 


124 


ANTOINETTE. 


placed her, nearly fainting, on a chair. The shepherd 
stopped short, and came back to Eose with a smothered 
growl. 

He doesnH like it ! exclaimed Tondeur, laughing till 
he nearly choked himself. He^s going to try and get 
her again.'^ 

The young count only frowned, and said to Eoussot in 
a low voice : 

Come, that's enough. Off with you ! Go and look 
after your sheep." 

But the fellow did not seem inclined to obey, and 
obstinately remained standing before his partner. Eob- 
ert, as easily as he might have filliped a caterpillar from 
a flower, gave him a back-handed blow which sent him 
reeling into the garden. 

Ah,” sighed Eose, opening her eyes. “ I nearly lost 
my breath altogether.” 

‘•Have a little punch, and it will all go off,” said the 
young count gayly. 

“ Thank you very much,” said Eose ; “ but I do not 
like strong things. I've had too many blows from father 
when he's been drinking. Besides, I must see about going 
home.” 

Have you had enough dancing? ” 

“ My word, it^s too hot to dance now.” 

The band began playing a quadrille, and the couples 
moved to their places. Eobert, leaving his friends, 
went out with Eose and took her to a dark arbor, where 
they were practically alone amidst all the merry-making. 
Ho one paid any attention to them ; for none of these 
tipsy men had eyes for anything but their glasses, or ears 
for anyone but Chassevent, who was still singing. For 
some minutes the two sat in silence, listening to the noisy 
shouts which followed each couplet. Eobert had drawn 
very close to Eose, and gradually his arm stole round 
her waist. She offered no resistance to the embrace : she 
seemed lost in dreams, she who was generally as lively 
and merry as a bird. Suddenly she shivered, and then 
tied the scarf she had brought with her, over her head. 

“ I feel quite cold,” she said. 

“ Your throat is bare. You should be more careful 
and Eobert took from his pocket a pretty blue silk hand- 
kerchief, bordered with red, and gave it to her. “ See, 
here is something to put round your neck,” he said. 

She gave a little exclamation of delight as her fingers 
touched the soft material. 

“ That is kind of you,” she said. “But do not let us 


ANTOINETTE. 


125 


stay here amongst all this noise and drinking.^^ 

“ Come along then/' replied Bobert. And rising, he 
stood aside for her to pass him and leave the garden. 
Behind them, agile and noiseless, crept Boussot. 

A few yards away from the inn, they paused beside the 
road which wound upwards towards the Great Marl-Pit. 
Pourtois' tavern, the illuminated thickets and the lighted 
ball-room flared through the trees, but the clamor of the 
crowd, even at this short distance, reached their ears 
softened and more faint. In the transparent darkness of 
the night, confused forms could be discerned becoming 
more clearly defined as they drew nearer. They were peo- 
ple from La Saucelleand Couvrechamps, who, having to 
rise early, were going home before the ball broke up. 

“ Hallo, Bose," said a bantering voice, ^^you won't be 
robbed going home with such a brave gentleman to take 
care of you." 

Bobert began to laugh; but Bose was vexed, and stepped 
aside from him. 

You hear? They are teasing me about you. It would 
be better for me to go home alone." 

He took her by the arm, and putting his mouth quite 
close against her ear, whispered softly: 

“ Stay with me, Bosette. We will have a talk about 
yonr father and the little house you would like." 

They left the high road and turned into a path which 
went zig-zag up the hill until it reached the plateau. 
Boussot was still following them, with springy, cat-like 
steps, and not the dislodgment of a loose stone, or the 
rustle of a branch betrayed his presence. Bose and Bob- 
ert walked slowly along the little path, which was so 
narrow that they were forced to press very close to one 
another. The moon had not yet risen, and the stars were 
good-natured enough not to shed much light. How, they 
had their arms about each other as they walked yet 
slower than before, inhaling, as they moved, the exquisite 
perfume of tlie flowering gorse which the freshness of the 
night made still more odorous than in the daytime. 
Every now and then, like the soft rustling of wings, came 
the sound of kisses, and in the shadow — jealous custodian 
of the caressing harmony — rose a ^mothered growl like 
that of a wounded beast grinding his threatening teeth. 

On and on they went with lingering steps, given up to 
the enjoyment of this blissful hour passed amidst the 
great peacefulness above, beneath and around tliem. The 
noise of the fete was now but a vague murmur in tbeir 
ears, and, swayed by the power of the poetry, which rose 


126 


ANTOINETTE. 


from the perfumed earth and fell from the glittering sky 
above, they pressed each other in a still closer and longer 
embrace. And, more sad, more irritated, more jealous 
moaned the voice of the mysterious "watcher in the shadows. 

The path was not long, and as a rule took not more than 
a quarter of an hour to climb ; but perhaps to Bose and 
Bobert it made itself more winding and more steep; for 
long after they had turned into it they were still there. 
Several times bad the clock at Clairefont rung out its 
deep strokes upon the silence. Towards the east, the sky 
had begun to whiten, and it must have been nearly three 
o'clock in the morning when the pair came out near the 
G-reat MarhPit, at the corner of the Couvrechamps woods. 

“Now, let me go," said Bose, gently. “ It is quite time 
I was home." 

“ Where shall I see you again ? " 

“You will be able to find me easily enough if the fancy 
takes you to come and talk to me," replied the girl, mis- 
chievously. “ But that is not very likely ; for you are 
so fickle." 

“ You do not mean what you say ? " 

“ Oh, yes, I do." 

He caught her round the waist, and raising her till her 
face was level with his own, kissed her on the lips. 

“ Please leave me a little mouth for to-morrow," she 
said, laughing. “ Good-night, or rather good-morning." 

They parted and turned av/ay, one toward Couvre- 
champs, the other towards Clairefont. At the turning oi 
the road, Bobert stopped and looked back, but the night 
was very dark, and he could no longer see his pretty 
sweetheart. Then he hastened home and was soon at 
the little park-gate. 

Bose had run quickly off along the fir-bordered path, 
thinking with a smile of the promises the young count 
had made and sealed with kisses. Suddenly she started. 
She fancied she heard footsteps behind her in the black 
shadow of the trees. She was not a nervous girl; but 
for ail that, her heart beat faster and a little perspiration 
broke out on her forehead at the thought. She hastened 
her steps, straining her ears to catch all the vague sounds 
of night, and again she heard a sharp crackling noise like 
that of a dead branch trodden by a human foot. 

She was then passing the white slopes opposite the 
abandoned sheds which stood above the chalk-pits. To 
her frightened eyes the familiar place assumed a fantastic 
appearance and became peopled with horrid spectres. 
The trees overhead seemed thicker and darker. She be- 


ANTOIKEI^TE. 


127 


gan to run. But as she started some terrible being: 
bounded out upon her, seized her in its arms, and with a 
demoniacal, mocking laugh, carried her in amongst the 
trees. She had strength enough to give two piercing 
shrieks of “I'obert! Eobert!’^; then a hand was roughly 
placed upon her mouth, and she fainted from terror. 

At that moment two men were following the short cut 
where Eose and Eobert had lingered so long. The one 
was continually stumbling over the stones, the other was 
doing his best to prevent his companion from falling. 

It beats ino why the pebbles are so big this evening, 
sacredU/* said Chassevenhs hoarse voice. 

‘• Eh, my boy, it’s that you don’t raise your feet as high 
as usual,” replied Pourtois’ shrill tones. 

“And yet I didn’t tire myself dancing.” 

“No; but you pretty well rinsed your throat.” 

“ And you blame me for it, you ungrateful fellow. Do 
you think that if I hadn’t bawled so loud to amuse your 
customers, I should have had such a thirst on me, or you 
such a full till ?” 

“ Granted, old boy. And so to show you how obliged 
I am, I have come a little way with you to see that you 
don’t fall down some chalk-pit.” 

“All right,” growled the drunken old poacher; “if 
you have only disturbed yourself out of precaution and 
not from friendship, you can go home again. Eow, don’t 
persist, because I don’t want you. The tighter I am, the 
better I can find my way.” And in spite of his unsteady 
legs, ho walked straight on, outstripping the inn-keeper, 
wiio putfed after him like a porpoise. They had reached 
the road to Couvrechamps, when Pourtois said : 

“Let’s have a minute’s breathing-time, then I’ll say 
good-bye, and go home.” 

They seated themselves on the edge of a ditch, and 
from sheer habit, Chassevent hid himself behind a bush. 
He took a pip© from his pocket, filled it and was just 
commencing to enjoy it, when his attention was attracted 
hy a quick step on the road. Ho at once drew his 
companion down amongst the gorse and peering into the 
darkness with eyes well accustomed to the night, he re- 
mained on the alert. 

“ It’s the young master from Clairefont” he whispered. 
“Where the dickens can he be coming from? He must 
have gone for a stroll before going home— followed a 
girl, I suppose. My girl, perhaps— he’s been hanging 
round her for some time. Well, then, he shouldn’t hin- 
der me in my pursuits. By the way, this is the very 


12S 


ANTOINETTE. 


time to set some snares ; suppose I do ? Fve got the 
things about me.^^ 

Wait a minute/' said Pourtois, rising; Pm not go- 
ing to be mixed up in that. I don't want to make the 
acquaintance of the Judge of Assizes. Run your own 
neck into the noose by all means, if you choose, old boy, 
but I'd rather keep mine out of it." 

But before the burly inn-keeper could take a step, a 
piercing shriek which froze him to the earth rang in his 
ears ; then twice he heard a name repeated with an in- 
describable expression of agonized terror ; ^‘Robert! 
Robert ! ” , 

What’s that?" exclaimed Chassevent, seizing the inn- 
keeper’s arm. 

^‘It sounds like some one being murdered," gasped 
Pourtois, whose teeth were chattering with fear. 

Sacredie! We must go and see. There are two of us, 
and we won’t let a poor wretch be killed without going to 
his help." 

Chassevent, don't let us go," implored the other. It's 
by the Great Marl-Pit." 

Eh ! if it's by hell. I'm going," replied the poacher, 
now completely sobered. 

He started off, and Pourtois, terrified, but preferring 
to follow him rather than stay alone, stumbled after him 
through the gorse. Chassevent, with a hunter’s instinct, 
made straight for the place whence the cry had come, and 
hurried in and out among the bushes without making one 
false step. He ran on thus about a hundred yards, with 
the inn-keeper always in the rear, avoiding with marvel- 
lous skill the holes and sloughs with which the ground 
was covered. Then he stopped to listen, holding his 
panting breath. In a hollow, a little way ahead, groans 
could still be heard, and without a word the poacher set 
off again, deadening the sound of his steps as much as he 
could. But in spite of his precaution, his approach was 
heard ; for a confused form started up like a frightened 
stag, and bounded up the sloping side of the valley. 

We shall lose him! We shall lose him! Hi, after 
him, Pourtois ! After him ! " cried Chassevent, stimulat- 
ing his companion to the chase, as he might have done 
his dogs. 

Recognizing the poacher's voice, the fugitive suddenly 
stopped. He stooped down as if he were placing on the 
ground a burden of which he wished to disencumber him- 
self; then, no longer hampered in his movements, he 
bounded on again with increased fleetness of foot, reached 


ANTOINETTE. 


129 


the plateau and disappeared. 

u \\reVe lost him V cried Chassevent. “ But he^s left 
something behind. Lot’s see what it is.” 

In a few moments they stood beside an old excavation 
in which the gorse had sprung up again. At the bottom 
lay a white form. 

It looks almost like a woman !” exclaimed Pourtois 
who v/as streaming with perspiration, in a terror-stricken 
voice. 

I am going down,” said Chassevent. And clinging 
to the protruding branches, making a foothold of the 
Stan es, he scrambled to the bottom. Ee knelt down, 
stooped over the form ; then, springing back with a hoarse 
cry: 

“ It’s my girl ! ” he yelled. 

At these startling words, Pourtois found wings. Half 
jumping, half sliding, he rejoined his friend, seized the 
inanimate Rose in his arms, raised her head, and without 
losing his presence'of mind, said : 

“ Shrike a light.” 

The poacher at once drew forth a tallow candle and 
some matches, and they were able to see. 

The two men bending over the woman in this dark 
cavity, by the glow of the tiny light, formed a weird 
sight. Rose, whose face was livid, whose lips were black, 
and eyes glazed, had her scarf tied tightly round her 
neck like a cord. Pourtois, with some difficulty, un- 
fastened it. Then a deep sigh escaped the poor girl’s lips, 
her eyes quivered with a horrible expression of agony, 
then closed. She threw up her arms and fell back life- 
less. 

Great God ! She is dead ! ” said the inn-keeper. 

' Oh ! ” yelled Chassevent. My child, my little Rose! 
Who has done the deed ? ” 

He struck his forehead with his hand; then with an ex- 
pression of concentrated and indescribable hatred, mut- 
tered : 

It can only be that scoundrel Clairefont ! He was 
there — he did it. Oh ! the brute ! ” 

What are you talking about ? ” cried Pourtois. “ You 
must be going mad. You know very well that we saw 
Monsieur Robert going home before we heard the shrieks.” 

It was him ! It was him ! ” returned Chassevent with 
increasing fury. Oh, do take my child from me ! But 
I’ll have revenge He shall know the worth of such a 
dear, sweet child as she was ! ” ^ 

“ Oh, well, first of all, let’s see if we can’t do anything 
9 


130 


ANTOINETTE. 


for her. My house is close at hand. Let’s take her 
there.” 

They raised the poor girl, whose hands were fast be- 
coming cold and stiff, and wended their way slowly back 
to the inn in the twilight of the dawning day. 

CMAPTEE YII. 

It was only seven o’clock in the morning, but Carva- 
jan, in adherence to his habit of early rising, had been for 
some time pacing up and down his office like a bear in 
his cage. Silence still reigned over the town, which was 
wrapped in slumber after the fete. The sun was climbing 
higher and higher in the heavens. One ray had even 
found its way down between the high houses into the 
narrow street, and after turning the panes of the office 
window into gold, lay in a luminous line upon the floor. 
The tiny atoms of dust danced like winged fairies in the 
golden streak, but ‘ despite the warm, happy brightness, 
Carvajan’s face was dark and gloomy, and in his mind he 
was ruminating bitter and revengeful thoughts. 

At the very moment that he thought success was near, 
and that he had but to extend his hand to grasp the re- 
ward of thirty years’ hard struggle, all these unexpected 
incidents came to sweep him back. To hold his enemies 
in his hand, to have but to close it to crush them, and yet 
to feel again their teeth close upon his flesh more tightly 
even than before ! 

At the very moment when he expected to gain the vic- 
tory over Pascal’s affections by showing him the whole 
neighborhood cringing as one man at the feet of its ruler, 
his triumph was changed into humiliation, and the one 
whom he had wanted to win by gratifying his pride, was 
forced to endure the most cruel of insults. 

He had been held up to public ridicule — he, the tyrant 
of La Heuville. For the second time, after a lapse of 
thirty years, this same fair of Saint-Firmin had pitted 
Clairefont against Carvajan. And, as if the children were 
hurled against each other by a fatal destiny, it was Eob- 
ert now who insulted Pascal. A decisive blow must and 
should be struck, a blow which would exterminate the 
whole hateful breed. 

In former days, Gatelier’s sTiopman was not equally 
matched against Honore. Now the position was re- 
versed, and it' was Carvajan who was the stronger. He 
had in his strong box a neatly tied packet of summonses. 


ANTOINETTE. 


131 


judgments and distress-warrants, which could be at once 
enforced in default of immediate payment of a sum of a 
hundred and sixty thousand francs, representing the capi- 
tal lent and its accumulated interest. The marquis was 
bound either to pay or resign himself to being turned out 
of his home. At last, this Clairefont would be seen upon 
the highway with his bundle on his shoulders, like a 
beggar ! 

In the solitude of his office, Carvajan began to laugh. 
He went to a chest, opened it and brought to light the 
safe which in the imagination of the inhabitants of La- 
Keuville contained so fabulous an amount of wealth. 

The banker drew a small key from his breast-pocket,, 
unfastened the intricate lock, and the iron door rolled 
heavily back on its well-oiled hinges. But the safe was 
destitute of the vast sums which popular imagination was 
pleased to commit to its care. There were only a few 
rolls of gold, a check-book and some bundles of papers 
of different colors. Carvajan took out one of these last, 
which bore the name of Clairefont written m large leL 
ters, and began slowly looking through it. 

As he did so, his face lighted up with a terrible joy. His 
fingers touched the paper with a little dry sound, crump- 
ling it and handling it roughly as if it had been the flesh 
of the marquis himself. And, as he stood turning the 
pages of these legal documents, the banker seemed like 
an inquisitor polishing and sharpening his instruments of 
torture to increase his victim^s agony. 

A light rap at the door interrupted him in the midst 
of his delicious occupation. He glanced suspiciously at 
the door, and quickly closed his safe. Then he went over 
to his desk, and called out: 

“ Come in ! ” 

It is I, master. Please forgive me if I am disturbing 
you,” said Fleury^s voice, while his hideous head ap- 
peared at the opening of the door. Then he entered the 
room, and Carvajan on glancing at him saw that he 
looked so strange, that without leaving him timeto.speak 
a w^ord, he exclaimed : 

What is the matter? 

“ Something very serious. Half an hour ago I was 
awakened by Chassevent and Pourtois, who told me — 
but I at once dressed and hurried here,” he broke off, 
“ for I thought that you ought, as always, to be the first 
to know — ” 

Of what?” sharply interrupted the banker, to whom 
Fleury^s circumlocution was causing unspeakable sus- 


132 


ANTOINETTE. 


pense. Ho feared that his son and Bobert de Clairefont 
had fought secretly that morning. ‘‘ \yill you speak out, 
you blockhead 

^^Well, then — little Rose Chassevent was killed last 
night close to the Great Marl-Pit.^' 

“ Killed exclaimed the mayor, suddenly regaining all 
his equanimity. “How? By some accident ?'" 

“It was a crime !"' replied Floury in stifled tones. 
“ Her father and Pourtois found her lying at the bottom 
of a hollow, strangled, after they had chased her mur- 
derer for a few minutes.^’ 

“ Chased him I Was he carrying her away then?” 

“ He was running amongst the gorse that grows on the 
hill-side, carrying her on his shoulders, as well as Chasse- 
vent and the other could see; for it was still dark.” 

“And he escaped them? He must be someone pos- 
sessed of exceptional strength.” 

Pleury's eyes caughtthe mayor's, and in them the clerk, 
read an idea so terrible, that he turned a little paler and 
drew his shoulders together with a shudder. 

“Ah,” said Carvajan, in a voice which was startling in 
its intensity. “ This affair must be looked into, and pretty 
quickly, too. Has the magistrate been told ? It is a case 
for him. What a strange thing to happen, Fleury, my 
boy! She was pretty, this girl. It must have been 
some sweetheart who did it.” 

“ That's what Chassevent says.” 

“ Ah, he says so, does he, the old rogue ! Where is he? 
I should like to speak to him.” 

“ I left him in the street. I thought I had better see 
you first, before bringing him in.” 

Carvajan hurried out to the hail. Outside the door he 
could hear a murmuring sound, which was sometimes 
drowned by a loud clamor of voices. The mayor threw 
open the door. There, in the midst of a crowd of 
neighbors, who were excitedly making all sorts of com- 
ments to each other, seated on the curb-stone was Chasse- 
vent, still more drunk than he had been the previous 
night, alternately lamenting and threatening. 

“My poor child!” he howled, blinking his tearless 
eyes. “ She was so pretty — she was so kind to her old 
father. And they’ve killed her, the wretches! So merry 
— so good-natured ! Ah, the scoundrels ! .They boro me 
a grudge, that was the reason ! Everyone knows how 
they treated me. It all comes of my friendship for our 
dear, good Mr. Mayor — God bless him ! Ah, there’s more 
in this business than you’d think — yes, there is ! Oh, the 


ANTOINETTE. 


133 


rascals! But I sha^nH let the matter rest! No one 
has the right to deprive a poor man of the consolation 
of his old age ! 

In vain did Pourtois — who felt most embarrassed amidst 
all these inquisitive people who were harassing him with 
questions he dared not answer — try to make the tipsy old 
man hold his tongue; Chassevent yelled and rolled about 
on his stone like one in a fit of epilepsy. However, when 
he saw Carvajan appear on the scene, he suddenly became 
much calmer, and bowing as if he were going to prostrate 
himself on the pavement : 

Ah, here is our protector ! ” he exclaimed. Oh, 
Mr. Mayor, take pity on a poor old man who cannot hope 
for justice unless you give him your help. Oh, Holy 
Mary, what a misfortune ! The child was so well yester- 
day evening ! And danced like a queen ! ” 

Come, Chassevent, be quiet,” said the mayor, sternly. 
^^It’s no good raising the whole neighborhood. Pourtois, 
take him into my office. As for you, my good people, go 
homo again and don’t take any notice of what that poor 
fellow has been saying—he is mad with grief. The judge 
will find out the truth of the matter.” 

And, leaving his auditors under the influence of this 
well-calculated moderation, he hastened to rejoin Chasse- 
vent and Pourtois. 

Leaning his back against the mantel-piece in his office, 
Carvajan gazed coldly at the poacher, and asked him 
stiffly : 

Whom do you accuse ? For, if I understand you 
aright, you are accusing some one.” 

And as the old scoundrel ox^ened his mouth to reply : 

^^Be careful of what you say,” he added. ^‘^You are 
speaking to a magistrate.” 

It would be all the same if I were speaking to our 
Lord Himself,” returned Chassevent. “ The young gen- 
tleman from the chateau passed close by us only 
a minute before the thing happened — ” 

“Chassevent, you know very well that he was not go- 
ing in that direction,” interposed Pourtois in grief-stricken 
tones. 

“ What is there to prove that he did not turn back by 
some by-way the instant after ? ” exclaimed the poacher 
violently. “ Besides, you didnH see him— you were lying 
on your back, and you are so big that he might have seen 
you from the road.” 

“Were you afraid of being seen then?” asked Car- 
vajan. “ What were you doing ? ” 


134 


ANTOINETTE. 


‘^Nothing at all/' returned the old vagabond sullenly. 

But every man has his own ways, and for my part I 
don't like running across people at night. There are so 
many ba<i ones about." 

So you wish me to understand that it might have been 
Monsieur Eobert who — " 

Carvajan dared not complete the sentence. A flush 
mounted to his pale cheeks, and turning a wild look towards 
the poacher, as if he feared the latter would retract his 
accusation, he said : 

Consider well the importance of such a statement." 

“ Eh, do you think I am going to mince my words? 
Besides, he was not seen only by us ! The Tuboeufs 
from Couvrechamps spoke to him at the corner of the lit- 
tle path by the Great Marl-Pit, just after they left the 
ball, and he was with the poor child then. Oh, what a 
wicked thing to do ! A poor, pretty little thing like her! 
Who had never done any harm to anyone — on the con- 
trary, who was always kind to everybody ! Oh, dear! 
Oh, dear!" 

‘‘ Don’t shout like that," said Carvajan coldly. There 
are no strangers here to listen to you, and you are wast- 
ing your breath and deafening us for nothing. " 

The poacher abruptly ceased his lamentations, and 
gazed submissively at the man who read him so truly. 

^‘Are you aware," went on the mayor, ^Uhat if it is 
young Clairefont who has done this in one of those fits of 
violence to which he so often gives way, you might very 
probably, by bringing a civil action against him, get about 
twenty thousand francs damages?" 

At these words, Chassevent’s eyes looked as if they 
would start out of his head. All his drunken stupidity 
disappeared as if he had swallowed some magic draught, 
and he became collected and cold as stone. 

'‘You think, Mr. Mayor," he asked softly, “that if I 
could make a good case, I should be able to get a good 
round sum?" 

“ I am sure of it." 

“ Twenty thousand francs ! Oh^ if you would only help 
me with your advice in this affair, 1 should be dead cer- 
tain to get out of it with the bread of my old age assured 
to me, my dear, good Mr. Mayor." 

“It is my duty to help you. You know that I have 
always protected the weak against the strong." 

“Then they are dished!" cried the wretched old man 
with mad delight. He made a gesture of triumph ; he 
could have danced with glee. 


ANTOINETTE. 


135 


“ But, Chassevent,” put in Pourtois, who was in a state 
of utter consternation, ^‘you know very well that the 
child called out: *E.obertI Robert!' Therefore it can't 
have been he who was holding her." 

She was screaming ^Robert!' as anyone might cry 
‘Murder!'" broke in Chassevent, angrily. “What is it 
to do with you, you great idiot? Do you think any trust 
can be put in what you say ? You were so upset that you 
didn't know what you heard or what you saw. Twenty 
thousand francs ! Of course it was that wheedling, .bribing 
scoundrel! Who else should it be? Who else would be 
strong enough to run at full speed up the valley 
with a woman on his back? Twenty thousand francs! 
I tell you it was him ! And if anyone pretends 
the contrary, he'll have me to deal with ! " And 
And the poacher turned so sinister a face to the unhappy 
inn-keeper, that the latter heaved a deep sigh and re- 
signed himself to silence. 

Just then Fleury rushed in quite out of breath. 

“ It's all going splendidly," he announced. “ I've stirred 
up the police, and, by the way, boys, you'd better make 
haste back to the inn. There are some things there that 
leave no room for doubt, and, mind — no one is to touch 
them." 

Chassevent was already making for the front door, 
pushing Pourtois on before him, with the eagerness of a 
miser who fears for the safety of his treasure. When he 
had reached the deserted street, he stopped, and pressing 
his companion's hand as though he meant to crush it, 
said : 

“Now, let's have no silliness, my boy. If you ever 
breathe one word to contradict what I say, I'll wring 
your neck like a chicken's! And now we understand 
each other, let's get on as fast as we can." 

When he found himself alone with Fleury, Carvajan 
paced the room for a few minutes in silence, with his head 
bowed on his chest. Then he paused abruptly, and ex- 
claimed : 

“ I could never have wished for a better revenge ! This 
insolent youth has attacked me and insulted my son. 
Well, then, I, in return, will send him as a prisoner to 
the assizes, where these Clairefonts will lose all— honor 
as well as fortune. There will be nothing left them, and I 
shall see them on their knees at my door, imploring 
mercy." 

“ What have Pourtois and Chassevent told you? " ask- 
ed Fleury. 


136 


ANTOINETTE. 


Tardieu^ they have described the whole scene of the 
murder, at which they assisted at a distance. Oh, Chasse- 
vent is ready to swear on his daughter's grave that it 
was young Clairefont who killed her. He hopes to make 
twenty thousand francs out of the aifair." 

“ Twenty thousand francs." repeated Floury with a 
horrible grin. ‘‘ Why, for that sum he'd have killed the 
girl himself I " 

This ghastly jest met with no response from Carvajan. 
He only looked sternly at the clerk, and said stiffly : 

I am very serious in what I am saying, and I wish 
those with me to be the same. I am convinced that Mon- 
sieur de Clairefont, who no doubt was intoxicated — a fact 
which will naturally acquit him of the charge of murder — 
committed the crime. If I thought him innocent, I should 
of course take no further interest in the matter." 

I am sure it was he," answered Fleury, acquiescing 
without the slightest hesitation. And as I share your 
views, I will go and see, in the interest of the innocent, 
that public opinion does not flow in the wrong channel." 

He bowed very low, contorted his features into a hide- 
ous grimace, and went out of the room. 

It was the last day of the fair, and the farmers, having 
slept off the effects of their last night's drinking bout, 
were doing their best to drive a few more bargains. But 
this time, for a wonder, the market-place presented a 
scene of unwonte'd animation. Men and women were 
knotted together in little groups, where most excited 
conversation was being carried on. Could it be a rise or 
fall in flour or the price of sheep which gave spur to so 
much discussion ? Hardly, for the words most frequent- 
ly uttered were the names “ Clairefont" and “ Chasse- 
vent," and amidst the startled exclamations, the most 
passionate assertions and equally ardent denials were 
exchanged. 

At the Cafe du Commerce, Tondeur had just repeated, 
in the hearing of at least twenty people, the words he had 
heard at the laundry-window at Clairefont, when Eobeii 
was kissing Eose: “ Don't press mo so tightly; you are 
strong enough to squeeze me to death without ever mean- 
ing to do so." And, amidst the smoke of pipes and the 
clinking of glasses, the timber-merchant proceeded to 
utter various hypocritical laments. What a pity it was ! 
The count was such a kind, good-natured fellow! He 
certainly had not done it intentionally. Tondeur, who 
knew him so well, would answer for that—but he was so 
strong ! And without meaning to hurt the girl, you know 


ANTOINETTE. 


13T 


— but he had more strength than he thought he had. Ee, 
Tondeur, had seen him pull up young saplings by the 
root, as anyone might gather a violet! As they were 
romping together, the girl had missed her footing— her 
father who was looking for her had come up with Pour- 
tois, and not wishing to be caught, the j^oung man had 
tried to hinder the little one from calling out. Ah, it was 
a terrible mishap! But as for being a crime — no, it 
certainly wasn^t that. 

But his audience thought that the timber-merchant was 
too lenient by far, and began to argue the matter with him 
with minds already somewhat prejudiced against the 
count. What! Eot a crime? Then, pray, what was it? 
Was the girl dead, or was she not? Tondeur, put to con- 
fusion, was forced to own that she was. Still he continued 
his defence, taking a pleasure in bringing forward bad and 
illogical arguments. After all they were accusing Mon- 
sieur Robert, but was there any positive proof that he was 
the cause of the accident ? For the wood-merchant obsti- 
nately refused to call it a crime. 

^‘Were there any proofs?^' retorted the dissenters^ 
warming to the subject as they argued. How about the 
silk handkerchief marked ^‘R. that the girl had 
around her neck, and which no one had seen her with at 
the ball ? And the TuboeuPs assertions? And the whole 
thing, in short? Anyone could see he was guilty. Peo- 
ple must be wilfully blind to dare to say he was not. And 
they wondered Monsieur de Clairefont had not been ar- 
rested yet; if he had been a poor laboring man, heM have 
been seen going through the town between two gendarmes 
long ago 1 

At that instant, a sort of low roar ran through the mar- 
ket-place, which at once attracted all the disputants to the 
caf6 windows. Robert had just turned the corner of the 
Rue du Marche in his gig with Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil, 
whom he was driving to the railway station. Owing to 
the crowd, he could only walk his horse, and he drove 
slowly through the tumultuous throng, laughing and 
chatting with the baron. Behind him, like a living tide 
swept the mass of peasants and idlers, and a few cries of 
hatred were uttered like the desultory, impatient, first 
shots of a riot. 

Robert turned round in astonishment, and looked at all 
these people who were following him. 

He is going away ! Do you see, he is going to get 
away ! he heard them say. ^ 

He had not the slightest idea what it all meant, for at 


138 


ANTOINETTE. 


Clairefont they had heard nothing of what had happened 
during the night. The chateau was like a besieged for- 
tress where no news ever reaches the garrison. The few 
servants never went into the village j the farms were some 
distance off ; Eose was the only link with the outer world, 
and she, poor child, would never brighten the cold, quiet 
old house again with her merry song and laughter. An- 
toinette, who had so particularly told her to be punctual, 
the night before, only thought with a smile when she did 
not make her appearance : 

“ She must have stayed late dancing last night in spite 
of all her fine promises, and is staying in bed this morn- 
ing.” 

When he reached the station, Eobert, totally unconscious 
of the attention bestowed on him by the gendarmes walk- 
ing up and down before the entrance, jumped out of the 
gig, took down Monsieur de Croix-Mesnirs bag, and tell- 
ing a porter to hold his horse, went into the waiting- 
room. The gendarmes at once moved to the platform 
where they stood in readiness to keep the young count 
back if he tried to leave La Neuville. 

But the count himself was very far from suspecting 
what was going on. He was too deeply absorbed in his 
conversation to notice the strict watch that was being kept 
upon him. When the train came in, he gave a last pres- 
sure of the hand to the baron, and after closing the 
carriage door himself, left the railway station and seated 
himself in the gig again. He had never before felt so 
sorry to see his friend go, and at the railway bridge he 
pulled up his horse and waited for the train to pass. He 
saw a smiling face at the window, a hand was waived to 
him ; then all disappeared round a curve in the line amidst 
a cloud of smoke. Then he went on his way again, 
wondering why he felt so depressed. 

But Eobert/s moods never lasted long the same, and his 
hearty nature soon reasserted itself. He put his horse at 
a trot, and, deciding to go home through the better streets 
to avoid the blocks which had stopped him as he was 
coming, kept straight along the plane-tree walk which 
surrounds La Neuville. He was just leaving the out- 
skirts of the town, when at the bottom of the hill, at the 
summit of which stood Clairefont, he came upon a group 
of factory hands hanging round the door of the inn, list- 
ening to Chassevent, who was now so drunk he could 
hardly stand, and who was relating for the hundredth 
time his daughter’s death, in thick speech and with many 
melodramatic additions. 


ANTOINETTE. 


139 


At the sight of Eobert, a thrill of horror ran through 
the knot of men who huddled together in a hostile atti- 
tude. Encouraged by his companions^ threatening looks, 
the old vagabond staggered forward, and trying to catch 
hold of the horse's bridle : 

Here's the murderer !" he stammered. “Here he is. 
Let us have revenge I" 

His unsteady hand bad managed to seize one of the 
reins, but a sharp cut from the whip on his fingers made 
him very quickly drop it. He reeled back, howling, and, 
the end of the shaft catching his shoulder, he must inevi- 
tably have fallen under the wheel if the count had not 
leaned down, caught hold of him, and thrown him to the 
inn door. 

“ Ah, after the daughter, he tries to kill the father I” 
yelled the poacher. “ Come to my aid, boys ! Let's take 
him and give him up to justice." 

In a moment Eobert was surrounded by men with furious 
faces and hands raised to strike. Some women who had 
come to see what was going on, began to utter piercing 
shrieks, and reinforcements were already hurrying down 
the Eue du March6 to the aid of the assailants. Chasse- 
vent, foaming with rage and drunkenness, returned to the 
charge and attempted to climb into the dog-cart. The 
count did not lose his presence’of mind — he gave a sharp 
jerk to the reins which made the horse prance and rear; 
then, seizing his whip, dealt the old poacher so terrible a 
blow with the butt end of it, that in spite of the thick cap 
and the kerchief he wore on his head, he rolled over into 
the dust, half-stunned. Just then Fleury's head popped up 
beside the gig, as suddenly as a Jack-in-the-box. 

“ What are you doing ? " he shouted to the workmen. 
“ Pick up that man, and go and wait for me." 

Then standing on tiptoe and seizing Eobert's arm: 
“How imprudent of you 1 Do not brave popular indigna- 
tion, but go, without an instant's delay I I have just 
come from Clairefont — I meant to warn you, but now 
your aunt and sister know all and they'll tell you what is 
best to do." 

“ But what's it all about ? " asked the count, beginning 
to feel a little uneasy. “ Are all these men mad ? " 

“ Little Eose was murdered last night, and you are ac- 
cused of the crime. Don't stop to argue — put yourself in 
some place of safety. Go away — that is the best thing to 
do." 

“ But it's infamous," cried Eobert. 

“ For heaven's sake, hurry home ! " exclaimed Fleury, 


140 


ANTOINETTE. 


pointing to the crowds of people hastening up from all 
directions. 

Without troubling himself any further about the in- 
creasing uproar, the magistrate's clerk hurried away to 
the mayor^s house in the Rue du March6. It was now 
eleven o'clock, and ever since early morning Garvajan's 
emissaries had been making the most of their time. The 
net round Robert de Clairefont was being drawn 
tighter and tighter every minute, and the more the un- 
fortunate captive might try to struggle, the closer would 
the meshes become. 

Pascal, after a restless, sleepless night passed in bitter 
recollection of the painful incidents which had marked 
his return to La Neuville, had decided finally to settle the 
question of his departure with his father at once. 

At luncheon time, he left his room, and was about to 
go down stairs when on the landing he met the servant 
who was coming from the upper story. 

^‘Ah, Monsieur Pascal," she said to him with a shocked 
and sorrowful air, ^^have you heard the news? The 
young gentleman at the chateau has murdered old Chasse- 
vent’s Rose. Yes, my good sir. And the magistrate's 
clerk is here in Monsieur Carvajan's office, telling him 
how things are going in the town; for everything is 
turned upside down." 

To Pascal's wavering eyes, the well of the staircase 
looked like a black abyss, at the bottom of which stood 
Carvajan laughing a mocking, triumphant, devilish laugh. 
He turned giddy, and clung to the wall to save himself, 
from falling. He had at once recognized the hand of his 
father in this terrible thrust which followed so quickly 
the insult he had received. If Robert was accused, the 
accusation had come from Carvajan. There was a cold, 
numb feeling all round his heart. His mind had conjured 
up the vision of Antoinette watching beside the deathbed 
of her father, dying of sorrow and despair. He remem- 
bered the sad presentiments he had had that first day as 
he stood at the door of Pourtois' inn, befow the terrace 
of Clairefont. The presage of misfortune was being 
realized. 

But had he not also dreamed that it was he who de- 
fended the forsaken girl and rescued her from her un- 
happy fate ? As he stood at the door of the chamber 
which had been his mother's, he could hear again the 
voice of the dying woman as she murmured her last 
words; ^‘Begoodto your fellow creatures. You must 
always be good." He turned in superstitious awe, as if 


ANTOINETTE. 


141 


lie expected to see the dear form behind him. But he 
was alone, and bowing his head, as before a sovereign 
command, he whispered; Be easy, my dear, lost mother. 
You shall be obeyed.” 

He went into his father's office with a smile on his face. 
As he entered, Fleury, who was talking excitedly, 
stopped abruptly with a look of embarrassment, and 
squinted horribly at him out of his startled eyes. 

‘‘'Well,” burst out Carvajan, crossing over to his son, 
“they've got themselves into a pretty mess, these proud 
folks who are too grand to even stand opposite us ! ” 

“ I have just heard all about it,” said Pascal. 

“Well, and what do you say to it? ” 

“What do the magistrates say to it?” returned the 
young man. 

“ The magistrates are extraordinarily slow to express 
their opinion. They don't know what to think between 
the proofs of the crime and the doubt which is the result 
of an honorable past. They are all for the aristocracy, at 
heart, and they don't like to arrest the son of a marquis. 
They have telegraphed to the Procureur-G-eneral, at Eouen, 
who, in his turn, will no doubt telegraph to the Garde 
des Sceaux. And all the time, the population here is in 
a state of ferment ; and if Fleury had not happened to 
turn up just in the nick of time just now, the count would 
have been lynched by some workmen. There is some- 
thing being said about a demonstration to-morrow, and, 
as I have just told the head of the police, if they don't ar- 
rest my young lord by this evening, I won't answer for 
the public peace of La Heuville.” 

“The best thing Monsieur Eobert could do would be 
to go away while there is yet time,” said Fleury in oily 
tones. “Once he is away, everyone would be quiet. I 
tried to make the ladies at Clairefont understand this, 
but at the first word I said. Mademoiselle Antoinette stood 
up as pale as a ghost, and, looking at me as if she could 
kill me, cried : ‘Never! To go away would be to con- 
fess his guilt. We know with whom this calumny origi- 
nated; we shall find means to prove the utter falsity 
of the charge !' She was clearly referring to his wor- 
ship, and perhaps a little to me. But I would not be 
discouraged. I insisted ; I gave them to understand that 
the roughs of La Neuville, who were in a state of great 
excitement, might even make an attack on Clairefont. 
Then old Saint-Maurice jumped up, looking as red as 
fire and swearing like a trooper. ‘ Let them come, that's 
all!' she said. ‘We have plenty of guns and they'll find 


142 


ANTOINETTE. 


that the women of this house are more than a match for 
men like them. Upstairs, in the lumber-room, there's a 
little swivel-gun that used to be used for fireworks ; I’ll 
have it brought down in the hall, and if anyone only 
touches the handle of our door. I’ll give the whole rabble 
a peppering V And you would never believe how the 
old hag swore! But there, what’s the good of trying to 
make people see reason when they’ve got a tile loose ? 
As for the marquis, he was shut up in his tower like an 
owl, reading some wizard’s book or poisoning the air of 
the whole neighborhood with his chemicals. He wasn’t 
to be seen, or else, perhaps, idiotic as he is, he could have 
better grasped the situation than that old lunatic let 
loose.’^ 

But she does seem to understand it perfectly,” said 
Pascal, quietly, “ and she stands up for her nephew’s in- 
nocence against every one. As Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font very truly said, to go away would be to confess his 
guilt, and no doubt the count has determined to defend 
himself. Perhaps he has substantial proofs of his inno- 
cence — a good alibi would settle the matter at once. Who 
knows but what one will be forthcoming ?” 

I defy him to bring one forward I” cried Carvajan, 
losing all control over himself at his son’s opposition. 

Father, you cannot tell — ” 

Are you going to defend him ? ” 

Are you going to accuse him ? ” 

^^Ho, no, of course not,” interposed Fleuryin a concili- 
ating manner. Your father does not bring the accusa- 
tion; why should he? His worship is only concerned, as 
always, for the public good. We speak freely, and weigh 
the for and against before you ; but you may be sure that 
if Monsieur Carvajan could hush up this affair he would 
do so at once. It is true that he is Monsieur de Claire- 
font’s enemy, and he is opposed to him on both political 
and financial grounds, but to draw any advantage from 
such a terrible misfortune I There cannot surely be any 
need for me to tell you he has not even thought of such a 
thing. Though, after all, would he not be within his 
rights if he had ? Have his enemies ever hesitated to do 
their worst against him ? You yourself had a proof of 
that yesterday evening. When I had the honor of meet- 
ing you for the first time, you had just witnessed one of 
those acts of violence peculiar and habitual to this young 
man. I told you then, little thinking to be so good a 
prophet, that you had arrived in time to assist at the last 
engagement of the war between Monsieur de Clairefont 


ANTOINETTE. 143 - 

and your father. Well, then, the combat is almost at an 
end ; it is terminating amidst blood and mire." 

which we are not the cause," roughly added Car- 
vajan, whose nerves had been irritated by Fleury's hon- 
eyed dissertation. Devil take them! Let them get out* 
of the fix the best way they can. I have no cause to be 
fond of them, and you'd see how much consideration 
they'd show me if I were in their place." 

After the first shock, the inmates of Clairefont had 
promptly set their wits to work to find out what had bet- 
ter be done, and Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice, Kobert 
and Antoinette had held a council in the little drawing- 
room. Fleury's assertions and the excitement in the 
streets had certainly some meaning in them. Old Ber- 
nard was sent to the farm for news, and brought back a 
confirmation of the report — Eose was dead, and Eobert 
was accused of killing her. Between Aunt Isabelle’s im- 
precations and Antoinette’s terrible calmness, Eobert 
experienced, one after another, the most opposite and 
contradictory sentiments. Sometimes he told himself 
that the accusation against him must fall through of itself 
and would have no result, and with a nervous laugh he 
promised himself ample revenge on those who had insti- 
gated the charge against him. Again, he would try to 
amass all the proofs he could give of his innocence, only 
to find to his horror that everything united to give him 
the appearance of guilt. He had reached home in the 
small hours of the morning, and had entered by the little 
door in the park, unseen by any one. And he had spent 
the whole of the time which had elapsed between his de- 
parture from Pourtois’ inn and his arrival at Clairefont, 
in the path leading to the Great Marl-Pit. Peoplije had 
met him and spoken to him there ; his presence was 
undeniable. 

And as he remembered the pleasant moments he had 
passed, that warm, fine night, with the pretty, laughing 
girl, his heart was torn with grief. Had he not involun- 
tarily been the cause of the misfortune by keeping Eose 
so late when she had wanted to go home? He had only 
managed to make her stay by dint of much pleading and 
persuasion. Let me go," she had said. Your sister 
will be waiting for me to-morrow morning, and I shall 
have you to thank for a scolding. If you have still so 
much to say to me, you can come to the laundry window, 
and we can talk as I work." When she had spoken thus, 
the roads were full of people. She would have gone back 
to Couvrechamps with them, and, instead of lying cold 


144 


ANTOINETTE. 


and still, she would now have been running briskly about, 
singing and laughing merrily. Tears sprang to his eyes 
at the thought, and the big, strong man began to sob like 
a child 

The two women looked at him in terror. A feeling of 
modesty froze the questions on Antoinette’s lips. What 
had passed between her brother and Rose? No doubt 
some love scene, begun at the ball and broken off for- 
ever by the mad act of a jealous lover, and to learn the 
facts, and to arrive, perhaps, at the truth, it needed some 
one to question Robert, to draw an explanation from him. 
But there was Aunt Isabelle thereto get at the root of the 
matter. She would not mind asking, and with her the 
young man would have no constraint in answering, and 
then they would know what line of defence would be best 
to take up. 

It was impossible for the error not to be very soon dis- 
oovered. Justice was clear-sighted and unprejudiced. 
Public opinion, the tide of which, so Fleury said, was 
turned so furiously against Robert, had been misled by 
false statements, the propagator of which it was not diffi- 
oult to guess. Carvajan’s hand was plainly recognizable 
in this work of hatred. He had been provoked, and he 
was taking his revenge. And the Clairefonts had but too 
good reasons to know with what deadly tenacity he clung 
to any scheme he took in hand. 

Their principal care was for the marquis to know noth- 
ing of what was going on. They could not bear the 
thought of the father hearing of the accusation against 
his son, and they were resolved to prevent the knowledge 
reaching him at any cost — the tranquillity of the aged 
man must be preserved before all. 

We had better take the marquis to Saint-Maurice,” 
Aunt Isabelle had said at once. 

But Antoinette, always able to see what was best even 
u-midst the darkness of despair, had replied : 

He cannot be safer anywhere than at Clairefont. Shut 
up in his turret he might as well be a thousand miles 
away from any one. It must be our care to see that no 
one gets in to see him. He never reads the paper, never 
goes out, and whatever may happen, he will remain in 
tranquil ignorance of it. If we should be absolutely 
compelled to tell him anything, we can at least choose our 
epportunity, and can judge how much we had better 
reveal.” 

The hours passed' by, strengthening their courage as 
they fled. Was not this lapse of time a proof of how 


ANTOINETTE. 


145 


baseless were their apprehensions ? Surely, if the law 
intended to take any steps in the matter, it would not be 
so long in putting itself into motion. Alas ! They were 
unacquainted with the procedure of modern legislation. 
They never dreamed of the hesitation of the magistrates, 
the plotting of Carvajan, and the secret watching of the 
police. And so, like an animal caught in a snare from 
which he can find no issue, they waited in silent stillness, 
feeling alternately the maddest hope and the deepest 
despair. 

Every day, about four o^clock, when the heat had some- 
what subsided, the marquis was in the habit of coming 
down from his turret, and taking a turn in the park. An- 
toinette would not have missed this walk for anything in 
the world; she had always put on her hat beforehand, 
and when her father left his study, he would find his 
pretty companion awaiting him. But to-day, in the fever 
of their anxiety, they had all forgotten the marquis. He 
entered and reached the middle of the drawing-room be- 
fore either of them heard him, and, laying his hand on 
Antoinette's shoulder: 

‘‘Well, must I come in search of my Antigone to-day?” 
he asked, smiling. 

They rose trembling to their feet. The appearance of 
the head of the family had inci'eased the horror of the sit- 
uation twofold. Eobert was the first to regain his pres- 
ence of mind. 

“Ah, father, you are earlier than usual to-day. But it 
just happens right ; for now we can all go out together. 
I want you to take my arm instead of Antoinette's. She 
will resign you to me for just this once, I know.” 

There was an accent of so profound a melancholy in 
the young man's voice that Antoinette's eyes filled with 
tears. To her it seemed that her brother was about to 
take his last walk in this beautiful park, where they had 
played when they were children, beside his father, who was 
totally unconscious of anything being wrong. She could 
not trust herself to speak, and acquiesced in Eobert's 
words by a bend of her head. 

The old father, leaning on Eobert's arm, was already 
going down the steps, talking as usual of the work with 
which he had occupied his day. Aunt Isabelle, lingering 
behind, uttered a moan, and pressed tier handkerchief to 
her eyes. 

“Antoinette, I cannot live with such a weight upon my 
mind,” she sobbed. “ No, it is more than I can bear. I 
feel I shall not get over such a dreadful shock. Eob- 
10 


146 


ANTOINETTE. 


ert, my nephew, the last of the Clairefonts and the Saint- 
Maurices, arrested like a common thief ! Suppose he 
did squeeze the girl a little too hard, where was the 
harm ? 

Antoinette turned pale, and darting a fiery glance at 
Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice : , 

“ Aunt ! Can you for a moment admit — 

How do 1 know ? His father did just the same when 
he was young. Only, in those times, the girls did not de- 
fend themselves so vigorously — or didn't die of a squeeze." 

But he has given us his word that he knows nothing 
about this unhappy event ! " 

So he has I Ah, I am going mad ! You know how I 
love the dear boy — more than I ought to, I'm afraid ; I 
would give all the rest of the family for him. But I am 
being well punished for my idolatry, for my suffering is 
awful. A hardened old woman like I am must have a ter- 
rible grief before she gives way as I am doing — my poor 
EobertJ My dear boy ! Oh dear ! Oh dear ! " 

And in a fit of utter despair, Aunt Isabelle burst into 
sobs. Antoinette knelt down before her, put her arms 
round her, and tried to comfort her. 

“ Ho," sobbed the old maid, no ! If they take him, I 
will go too, I will go to prison with him." 

“ But, auntie, you can't ; it's impossible." 

And why can't I ? " asked Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice, becoming suddenly calm. “ I have often been 
told that during the Terror my ancestors went together to 
La Force." ^ 

“ But we are not under the Eeign of Terror now," re- 
plied Antoinette, unable to restrain a smile. 

Indeed I And what do you call a reign when such an 
abominable thing as this can happen ? Ah, it is the end 
of all." 

Come, auntie, we must go out to papa. Try not to 
let him see that you have been crying." 

Don't be afraid, I won't let him know." 

They were just stopping on to the terrace when the 
opening of the drawing-room door made them pause. 
On the threshold stood old Bernard, looking thoroughly 
scared. ♦ 

What is the matter ? " asked Antoinette, aghast. 
Monsieur Jousselin is here, mademoiselle," stammered 
the faithful old servant. 

The two women exchanged a frightened glance, and, 
moving as in a dream, went out to the hall, where a stout 
man, dressed in black, was nervously fidgeting about. 


ANTOINETTE. 


14 ? 


When he saw the ladies, he took off his hat, and, with 
great deference, said to Antoinette : 

“Mademoiselle, I should like to speak a few minutes 
with your brother."" 

“ He is now walking in the park with my father, sir. 
Must I call him?” 

“ I should be very much obliged if you would."" 

There was a deep silence. The police-officer hesitated 
to speak out before the lovely agitated girl. The other 
two had a question on their lips they dared not put into 
words. At length Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice could 
bear the uncertainty no longer, 

“ Have you come to take him from us, sir?"" she asked, 
with a terrible look. 

“Madame, my office imposes a painful duty upon me — "" 

The old maid tolerated for once the “Madame,"" which, 
under any other circumstances, she would have sharply 
repudiated. 

“My dear, sir,"" she resumed with much feeling, “you 
are, if I am not mistaken, the son of the J ousselin who used 
to be my father"s agent at Saint-Maurice. You are ? Then 
there are family ties between us. You do not wish to 
reduce honest' people to utter despair — my nephew is not 
guilty — though do I need to tffil you that? What must be 
done for him to remain at liberty ? If it is a question of 
money, it could be arranged — "" 

The other made a movement of astonished denial. 

“ There is no alternative but for Monsieur de Clairefont 
to come with me,"" he said gently; for he was really sorry 
for the two women. “ I will show him every possible con- 
sideration in the execution of my duties — "" 

“ I want to entreat your consideration for my father, 
sir,"" implored Antoinette. “ Ho not let him know of 
what is happening until my brother"s innocence is proved."" 

“ Mademoiselle, you see that I have come in alone — my 
men are outside. If your brother will give me his word 
to follow me without resistance, we can go without any 
noise or scandal. By acting thus, I hope I am proving to 
you that I have not forgotten what my family may have 
owed to yours."" 

Mademoiselle de Clairefont bowed her head. 

“ I thank you, sir,"" she said, “ and I will answer for 
my brother. I will go and tell him. Auntie, you stay. 
You can speak to him here, without fear of being seen, 
before he goes."" 

The old man and his son were just passing the window 
in their walk up and down the terrace. They were talk- 


148 


ANTOINETTE. 


ing — ^the marquis absorbed in the childish joy of explain- 
ing the experiment which was occupying his thoughts, 
and Bobert trying to repress the burning tears which 
mounted from his heart to his eyes. It seemed to him 
that he was about to quit forever all that surrounded him, 
and he looked at the house, the trees, the flowers, and the 
sky, which had never seemed so bright to him before, 
with unwonted affection. Feelings, which he now knew 
for the first time, arose in his heart. He regretted his 
follies, he blamed himself for his idle existence, he felt 
bitter sorrow for any grief he had ever caused his father. 
He longed to make atonement for it all, and regarding 
his misfortune as the consequence of his misconduct, he 
accepted it as an expiation. 

He saw his sister coming, and at once noticed the look 
on her face. Without giving her time to speak, he asked 
anxiously : 

‘‘ Have you come to take my place ? 

She sadly bent her head. 

There is someone in the drawing-room who wants to 
see you,’* she said. 

“'I expect it is about some pleasure party,” said the 
marquis indulgently. Go, my boy , don't keep your 
friend waiting.” 

The brother and sister shuddered at the terrible mis- 
take. Bobert put his arms round his father and pressed 
his quivering lijis to the old man's white hair; then he 
held out his hand to his sister, feeling that he dared not 
kiss her, or he should break down. 

Having with great difficulty torn himself from Aunt 
Isabelle’s tearful lamentations, Bobert started to accom- 
pany Jousselin to Couvrechamps. The gendarmes had 
gone on in front and two detectives, disguised as trades- 
men, followed about fifty paces behind. As they went 
along, the police-officer, under pretence of chatting, skil- 
fully questioned his prisoner, and Bobert, over-excited 
and, besides, having nothing to hide, gave a full account 
his long-standing flirtations with Bose, the ball 
on Saint Firmin's day, the walk up the hill-side, the meet- 
ing with the Tuboeufs, and the separation at the road to 
Clairefont. They reached the very spot, as he was talk- 

See, here's where I left her,” he said. I stood for 
a minute watching her till she had disappeared in the 
darkness; then I went on home. If I had only stopped a 
few moments longer, she would be living now.” 

A prolonged, mournful, strident wail, like the moaning 


ANTOINETTE. 


149 


of a beast in agony, interrupted his words. On the common, 
Eoussot's sheep were browsing on the scanty grass as 
usual, but the uncouth shepherd did not make his appear- 
ance to accompany, as was his wont, the passer-by with 
his modulated cries and the cracking of his whip. He 
had hidden himself, and in vain did Eobert look round 
for him. Again the desolate cry was heard in the silence 
of the lonely place, and then the two men espied him lying 
on his face behind a huge boulder, his head buried in his 
hands, unconscious of all except his grief. 

Poor fellow,^' said Eobert. ‘‘Eose was always kind 
to him. She did not rebutf him like all the farm people 
did, and he simply worshiped her. He has lost the one 
joy of his life.^' 

The village was in an unaccustomed state of excite- 
ment. As Eobert and Jousselin approached the first 
houses of the little hamlet, some boys, who seemed to be 
on the lookout, broke into a shout of ‘‘Here they are;^' 
and then took to their heels as if terror-stricken. The 
market-place was crowded — people had come over from 
La Neuville on purpose to see the son of the marquis go 
by between two policemen, and there was a murmur of 
disappointment when Eobert was seen coming down the 
avenue of flowering lime-trees, walking in perfect freedom 
beside Jousselin. 

“And thaPs what they call equality,^' growled the 
wooden-shoe maker from La Sauce! le, an ultra-democrat, 
whose daughter Mademoiselle de Clairefont had nursed 
the year before when she was dying of typhoid fever. 
“ If it had been a poor man, theyM have put the hand- 
cuffs on him.^' 

The hands from the factories and saw-mills yelled and 
shouted, the crowd surged to and fro, some women uttered 
piercing shrieks, as they caught up their children to save 
them from being trodden under foot, and Jousselin in- 
stinctively seized his prisoner's arm, less to hold him than 
to offer him some protection. The mounted police, who 
were standing round Chassevent's miserable hut, hastened 
to the rescue, and the most ardent of the malcontents re- 
coiled before the prancing horses, which were impatiently 
shaking their bits amidst the cloud of dust. 

“ I am sorry to have been the cause of any trouble to 
you,'' said Eobert to Jousselin with the utmost coolness. 
“Alter all the good my family has done about here, I ex- 
pected a little more sympathy. Ah, though, I see the 
reason now," he added with a bitter smile. 

He had just caught sight of Carvajan in the middle of 


150 


ANTOINETTE . 


a knot of men, talking to Tondeur. 

In the background, and nearly hidden by the others, 
Pascal, trembling with emotion, was leaning against a 
garden-gate. There was a deep silence all around. Eob- 
ert continued to move forward^ his eyes fixed on the 
mayor, his head carried well up, and looking a little pale, 
but very resolute; and the young count seemed to increase 
in height as he walked thus amidst the menacing crowd. 

In the little garden of the hovel stood the examining 
magistrate, listening to the animated conversation of a 
man, whom Eobert guessed to bo an inspector of police, 
and Doctor Margueron, to whom no doubt had been 
given the task of the post-mortem examination. 

The door of the house was open, and in the darkness of 
the room within —which was lighted but by one window 
around which climbed a white rose tree — the yellow gleam 
of the candles standing beside the dead girhs body could 
be seen. 

The young count breathed a heavy sigh as he looked. 
It was there that poor Eose was lying, silent and cold, 
sleeping her last sleep. He felt no terror at the thought 
of being confronted with the corpse — only an intense and 
tender pity. What had he to fear from the poor dead 
girl ? The sight of her face might move him to tears, but 
it could not inspire him with terror. If, by a miracle, she 
could have been raised from her bier and brought to life 
again, he knew that her first words would have been to 
proclaim his innocence. 

There was a movement amongst the group in the little 
garden. The examining magistrate had just gone into 
the house accompanied by his clerk, who carried a large 
portfolio under his arm. Jousseliu touched Eobert^sarm. 

We must go inside, he said, quietly. Then in a lower 
tone he added: ^^They are going to confront you with 
the victim.^^ 

I am ready,^^ answered Eobert. 

Stretched on her bed, beside which stood a lighted 
candle, white as marble save for the violet shadows round 
her temples, with her fair hair, to which still clung some- 
ofthe gorse flowers, spread all around her, lay Eose, 
looking as if she slept. Death had not detracted from 
her beauty, and her face was bright with the last sweet 
smile. On a table stood a copper bowl filled with holy 
water, into which the sprig of box which the poor girl 
had brought home the last Palm Sunday had been care- 
fully put. Beside it lay the scarf with which Eose had 
covered her head that fatal evening, and the silk hand- 


ANTOINETTE. 


151 


kerchief Robert had given her to put round her neck. 
A sunbeam had found its way through the narrow win- 
dow, and was casting its gleam upon the copper bowl and 
crimsoning the woollen material of the scarf. 

Robert, as reverent as if he were in a holy place, stood 
near the door waiting. Carvajan had slipped in after 
him, far more agitated and anxious than the man who 
was accused. 

Monsieur de Clairefont,” said the magistrate in an ill- 
tempered voice, approach the hed. You recognize the 
girl ” 

Yes, sir,^' answered the young man with firmness. 

The magistrate signed to his clerk to take down the 
answers, and turning to the man whom Robert had taken 
for a police-inspector : 

Show the traces of the murder,” he said. 

The man uncovered the dead girFs chest, and on the 
pretty, rounded neck, which Robert could not look at 
without a lump coming into his throat, there appeared a 
deep, purple line. Then the magistrate spoke to Mon- 
sieur Margueron. 

Doctor, will you be good enough to state the result 
of your examination 1 ” 

It was evident that the kindly country doctor had never 
gone through such a scene before in his life ; for he shud- 
dered, made a startled gesture, and opened his mouth to 
speak without at first succeeding in uttering a word, so 
contracted was his throat from agitation. However, he 
recovered himself in a moment or two, and, like a stream 
too long pent up, poured forth a fiood of explanations 
teeming with medical terms, from which it appeared that 
having been summoned to examine the body of the girl 
then lying before them, he had found violent ecchymosis 
at the base of the pharynx at the poin t of union with the 
trachea, which had been caused by pressure from a thick 
cord or handkerchief, which pressure had lasted about 
five or six minutes, that is to say, long enough to cause 
death from asphyxia. He had found no other trace of 
violence on the body. From what he had learned from 
public rumor, he thought that the murderer, when he was 
running away from the girFs father and the inn-keeper, 
Pourtois, had tried to stifle his victim^s screams, and that 
in the hurry of his flight, the gag he had placed over her 
mouth had slipped down the chin to her neck, and that 
then the man had unconsciously pulled it tight as he fled 
and so brought about strangulation. 

Warming to the subject as he spoke, and carried 


152 


ANTOINETTE. 


away by his own words, the doctor began to enact the 
scene. And it was at once awful and grotesque to see 
this big, gray-headed man playing this terrible comedy 
at the very foot of the bed on which the dead girl lay and 
in the presence of the man who was accused of having 
murdered her. 

Thank you for your report, said the judge, wishing 
to cut short the doctor^s exuberance. Do you acknow- 
ledge,^^ he went on, turning to Eobert, having caused 
the death of Bose Chasseyent during the night of the 
twenty-fifth to the twenty-sixth of September ? 

^^No, sir.^^ 

You will make no statement of what passed between 
you and the victim of the crime 

I have already told the commissary all I know in 
connection with the case, but you cannot expect me to 
accuse myself of that of which I am innocent.^' 

Yery well. I must hold you at my disposal.^' 

“Do so, sir, if it is your duty,'' said Eobert, gravely. 

Then, in the growing darkness of the room, he drew 
nearer to the bed on which Eose was lying, bent rever- 
ently before it, and, kneeling down, whispered a short 
prayer. When he rose, he went to the window, broke 
off the most beautiful flower from the rose-tree, which 
was crimsoned by the rays of the setting sun, and, having 
dipped it in the holy water, laid it gently on the dead 
girl's marble forehead. 

“ Good-bye, poor child," he whispered with an accent 
of deep sorrow. Then turning to the magistrate : 

“ I am at your orders, sir," he said simply. 

Everyone was silent, awed by the touching simplicity 
of the scene. Carvajan's voice alone was heard, say- 
ing: 

“They have always been a little theatrical in that 
family. But he who wishes to prove too much, proves 
nothing." 

Eobert contemptuously shrugged his shoulders, and, 
not deigning to bestow even a glance upon his enemy, fol- 
lowed Jousselin out of the house. 

That same evening, he was taken to Eouen, and incar- 
cerated in the Bonne Nouvelle prison. 

CHAPTEE YIII. 

As Aunt Isabelle had foretold, it would have been a 
matter of utter impossibility for her not to have followed 


ANTOINETTE. 


153 


her Benjamin. After an evening passed in fretting and 
champing in fits of rage that she was forced to conceal, 
and a night during which she seemed on the verge of 
losing her reason, the old maid set out for the railway- 
station, and Antoinette, left alone with her father, was 
compelled to make up a tale to account for the absence 
of her brother and her aunt. 

Mademoiselle de Saint-Mkurice had had some differ- 
ences with her farmer, and she had gone away for a few 
days with Eobert to look into the matter. For a few 
days ! But the marquis did not notice the pitiable smile 
with which Antoinette uttered the falsehood. Easy-go- 
ing Honore was in no wise curious or hard to please— a& 
long as he was not jeered at and tormented about his in- 
ventions, he was always ready to let others do as they 
liked ; and he was always too much occupied with his own 
thoughts and ideas to trouble much about what was going 
on around him. He was devoting himself still more pas- 
sionately than before to his system of heating. To obtain 
perfection was the marquis' most pernicious hobby. An 
invention possessed interest for him only when it was 
still in the shape of an unsolved enigma — once the answer 
found, he thought no further of it, and his restless mind 
turned in search of angther problem. Earely did he rest 
satisfied with what he had accomplished; he always 
wanted something better — the better which spoiled the 
good. It was in this way that he managed to make the 
soundest enterprises failures, and to convert into a source 
of ruin the Great Marl-Pit, which was a mine of wealth 
that an intelligent, honest foreman could have worked 
in a manner that would have enriched his master and the 
whole province. 

For three days past Honore had been very silent. Even 
at table he ate his meals mechanically, with his eyes fixed 
on his plate and his thoughts evidently elsewhere. 

Father is still busy in his laboratory," Eobert had 
said jokingly. 

The marquis had not even heard the words. He was 
engaged in pursuing his dreams, in trying to enchain his 
fancies. How many millions of miles through the empty 
air had he thus been borne, astride his fantastic hobby, in 
his pursuit of the impossible ! Occasionally he would burst 
forth in a sudden explosion of joy, and gleefully rub his 
hands together as he exclaimed ; ' 

This time, I think Pve got it ! " 

Antoinette blessed the fatal mania which, in this^ in- 
stance, so fortunately absorbed her father’s attention. 


154 


ANTOINETTE. 


He did not seem to notice the absence of Mademoiselle 
de Saint-Maurice, whose seat at the table was vacant for 
the first time for thirty years. As for Eobert, he was 
often away for long periods, shooting. 

After dinner, which had been a short and silent meal, 
the marquis and his daughter sat together in the vast 
drawing-room which, only lighted by two lamps, was 
nearly all in darkness. Antoinette's thoughts fled to her 
brother, and she pictured him in a bare and gloomy cell, 
awaiting the decision of his destiny. Where was Aunt 
Isabelle? What had she been able to do? There must 
be some difficulty in obtaining leave to visit a prisoner, 
and perhaps she would not even see Eobert. And if not 
she would stay, like an old, faithful dog left by its master 
at the door, gazing at the prison walls and finding happi- 
ness in thinking that within them was the child she loved, 
breathing the same air as herself and only separated from 
her by these few stones. 

Oh, what a sad evening that was ! And how slowly 
and mournfully the hours passed by ! Left without a 
friend to comfort or advise her, alone with this old man 
who sat buried in his arm-chair, childishly nodding his 
head, and thinking of nothing but his foolish schemes, 
when misery and ruin were storming his house and enter- 
ing boldly, terrible and implacable, through the breach. 
Oh, how full her heart of wretchedness, her eyes of tears 
she must not shed ! 

Ha, ha ! " laughed the marquis, and his laughter sent 
a cold chill through Antoinette. ^^How, I see it all. 
Look, my child, the top grating in my furnace is level, 
and it ought not to be, because as combustion goes on, it 
gets clogged, and so prevents a thorough draught. The 
grating must be inclined ; then everything will slip off it, 
and the heat is kept up. There I The improvement is 
simple enougli; what do you think of it?" 

I think it will answer perfectly, papa." 

<^You say, ^ it will answer perfectly,' as though you 
weren't thinking a word of what you are saying ! Come, 
instead of staying in this drawing-room where we two 
poor forsaken things are lost, let us go up to my study. 
I will show you my model, and then you will see exactly 
what the improvement is. It means a fortune, little one, 
a fortune." 

Giving way to the old man's whim, Antoinette took a 
lamp, and they both went up to the first story of the tower. 

Out of the large room with, its arched ceiling supported 
by finely moulded stone pillars, the marquis had managed 


ANTOINETTE. 


155 


to make at once a library, a study and a laboratory. 
Along the whole side which overlooked the park, ran 
shelves filled with dust-covered books, while some steps 
on castors which ran along a groove in the floor, enabled 
the student to reach down any volume he needed. Be- 
fore the large, arched, stained-glass window stood a mas- 
sive bureau, and, near a pillar, was a drawing-table covered 
with plans and designs. A thick carpet covered the 
granite flooring of this part of the room, which was com- 
fortably furnished with large, deep easy-chairs highly 
conducive to meditation and, so Eobert said, to sleep. 

The other side, which overlooked the principal en- 
trance to the chateau, was devoted to the laboratory. To 
the huge brick furnace with its wide mantel-piece, above 
which was a pair of bellows with a hanging chain, had 
been added a little brass stove surmounted by a pip© lead- 
ing into the large-chimney. This was the marquis' cher- 
ished invention. On the table stood pipkins and phials 
of all shapes, and in a corner, beside a stone sink to which 
water was laid on, was a worm of stills, with a zig-zag 
copper neck. And in this strange-looking room, where 
all the baleful ideas which in thirty years had brought 
ruin on the family had first taken shape, the marquis was 
thoroughly happy. 

When they entered it that night, he breathed a sigh of 
satisfaction, and looked at his daughter with more atfec- 
tion in his gaze than usual. 

‘‘ It is some time since you have been up here, my pet," 
he said. ‘^And you see I have a good many drawings 
there which are waiting for you to look over and touch 
up. Since we are going to be by ourselves for a few 
days, why don't you come and sit here with me ? You 
would see how happily the time would pass," finished the 
old man with a smile. 

^^Yery well, papa," answered Antoinette, not heeding 
what she was saying. 

Then the delighted old marquis went to his stove, 
pulled Out the boxes of coke, which ran on wheels and 
which occupied the whole space beneath the furnace, and 
began with the help of a large quantity of paper and 
shavings, to light his little stove himself. He had turned 
up his sleeves to his elbows, and during his operations he 
got himself into a terrible mess. Soon the laboratory 
was so full of smoke that the windows had to be thrown 
open ^ and talking, coughing and half suffocating, the in- 
ventor entered into voluble explanations, trotting back- 
wards and forwards from the ij^pparatus, which ho said 


166 


ANTOINETTE. 


Lad still a few imperfections, to the numerous drawings 
by which he had corrected his mistakes. 

There, see, my child, it is burning the wet shavings 
now. It is difficult to set it alight as it is here, because 
there isn't a sufficient draught, but with a factory chimney 
it would go of itself. Wet shavings, eh? What do you 
think of that? And what a heat it throws out! That's 
the beauty of the invention. In the plantations in America 
they could keep it going with the crushed sugar-canes. 
What do you say to that!" 

. Antoinette said nothing. She again remembered the 
horrors of the situation, and fell once more into despair. 
There was her brother — who was there to save the poor 
boy so falsely accused, and around whom was cast the 
dangerous net of calumny? Even if she were able to 
face the difficulties of their financial position, how could 
she help the one who was so dear to her? She had the ig- 
norance of purity. The law as regards criminals was 
beyond the understanding of her innocence — it was a 
terrible enigma to her, and the peril which threatened 
Eobert seemed to her at once terrible and incomprehen- 
sible. 

And melancholy, dark and gloomy as a mental night, 
took possession of her. Her father went on talking, but 
she was not listening to what he said; the old man's 
words fell on the unheeding air, as the water dripped, 
noisy and useless into the stone sink; for his daughter's 
mind was occupied with but two ideas — how to save 
Eobert and how to meet the bill which would shortly 
fall due. 

At eleven o'clock, she and her father left the labora- 
tory, and went down stairs to their bed-rooms. The 
marquis, delighted at having been able to develop his 
ideas for two whole hours, without ever stopping to know 
if he had been heard or not, kissed Antoinette, and left 
her, saying : 

I feel quite cheered up. You do not know how much 
good your presence does me. When I see you aihongst 
all my apparatus, it seems as though, all I have begun 
must succeed— you will come again, won't you? You are 
interested in my work, you know ; for it means fortune 
and wealth for us all." 

To Antoinette the night seemed very long. She Jay 
with eyes wide open in the darkness, listening to the 
storm which was raging outside and shaking the chateau 
to its very foundations. These angry gusts, which swept 
by with never-ceasing uproar, sounded in her ears like 


ANTOINETTE. 


157 


the roaring of the sea, and in the fever of her sleepless- 
ness she fancied that she was indeed upon a storm-tossed 
vessel. The wind howled furiously round the masts and 
rigging, and the rise and fall of its tumultuous noise gave 
her the sensation of being lifted on the mountain crests or 
hurled into the deep valleys of the waves. 

She thought that she was being borne over an inky ocean 
amidst a darkness through which the lightning flashed 
blood-red. She was dizzied by the horrible rolling of the 
waves, and suffered terribly. The storm grew more and 
more furious, filling her ears with its strident whistling 
and screeching, and in the agitation of her thoughts, it 
seemed to her that she was going to rescue her brother 
who had been forsaken upon a bare and narrow rock. 
She turned to seek the commander of this phantom ship, 
and by the lightning's gleam she saw that he had Pascal’s 
face. He looked at her with gentle eyes as though he 
would say : You know that I adore you ; you have but 

to utter a word, to make a sign, and I myself will take 
you to your brother and insure his safety. I would do 
anything to make you happy. Your tears blister my 
heart, your grief makes me grieve also. Do not persist 
in your pride — be reasonable and kind, and in one mo- 
ment your woe shall be at an end.” 

But she was implacable, and turning away her head, 
refused to listen to the prayer so gently uttered. Then, 
amidst the tossing chaos of the angry billows, the ship 
moved away, abandoning to his fate her shrieking 
brother. The night grew darker, the clamor of the wind 
more terrible, and the waves, which had become the color 
of blood, were strewn with corpses. 

Antoinette, terrified, tried to put an end to this horrible 
nightmare. She reasoned with herself, telling herself 
that she was in her room, that her father was close at 
hand, thwt she was dreaming wide awake. She felt 
the bedclothes with her hands to convince herself, but 
ever and again the hallucinMion returned ; and it was not 
until she had lighted a candle that, worn out with fatigue, 
her hair lying dank about her forehead, which was 
covered with a cold perspiration, she became a little 
calmer. Then, at last, the pale dawn came, and delivered 
her from this agony. 

As soon as she was dressed, Antoinette went to her 
father, whom she found as fresh as a rose, after a night of 
sleep, dreamless and quiet as a child’s. About ten 
o’clock ho went up to his study, and just then, a letter, 
brought by one of Malezeau’s clerks, was given to An- 


158 


ANTOINETTE. 


toinette, who hastened to her room to read it. The en- 
velope contained a note from Mademoiselle do Saint- 
Maurice, at Eouen, and a few lines from the attorney, 
begging Mademoiselle de Clairefont not to forget the bill 
which would fall duo the following day. 

Aunt Isabelle sent word to her niece that she had 
reached Eouen about seven o’clock, and had at once been 
taken, by an influential friend, to the Procureur-General, 
whom she had asked to set her nephew free. But, in spite of 
his evident willingness to do so, the procureur was not 
able to accede to her request. Accounts of the affair had 
been published in most of the papers in the department, 
with many inexact and untrue details, according to the 
custom of ‘Hhose low journalist men/' and it had al- 
ready caused a great sensation in the town. It was also 
impossible for her to see Eobert, who, she was told, was 
debarred all communication with his friends. 

She was staying in the Saint Sever quarter, at a car- 
riage-builder's, who had let her a furnished room, and she 
did not know now what to do next. However, in spite of 
her worry, the old maid did not forget the monetary 
troubles, and remembered to tell her niece that all the 
papers connected with the bill that was about to fall due 
were together in the chest of drawers in her room, under 
her handkerchiefs. 

As she read this letter, which had been scrawled at 
five o'clock in the morning in a sprawling handwriting 
on commoTi note-paper, and which had as many mistakes 
in the spelling as in the composition, Antoinette wept. 
The confession of helplessness her poor aunt had been 
forced to make dissipated her last hesitations, destroyed her 
last hopes. She resolved to do as the situation demanded, 
and, without even troubling to dry her tearful eyes, she 
went up to her father. 

The marquis was seated at his desk, writing notes on 
the margin of a plan ; but he paused in his Work when he 
saw his daughter, and, pushing back the velvet cap which 
covered his head and made him look like some old 
alchemist ; 

^‘Ah, so you do take an interest in what I showed you 
yesterday, since you are here again, and so early in the 
morning, too," he said, gayly. I am very glad to see 
you, my child. Come and sit here, near me." And as 
Antoinette obeyed him in silence. But what is this I 
see?" he exclaimed. ‘‘Your eyes are red, as if you were 
in trouble. What is it? I will have you tell me frankly." 

“Alas, papa, I am unable to keep silence any longer, or 


ANTOINETTE. 


159 




else I should — perhaps more from motives of affection 
than wisdom — have still spared you these terriblo 
worries.^^ 

Malezeau has been up to his tricks again, I suppose," 
broke in the marquis with some annoyance. Can he 
not arrange matters without bothering us about them ? 
I have something else of a great deal more importance to 
think of. The time he causes njo to lose is precious." 

‘^Papa, you have no time left of which you can dis- 
pose," said Antoinette. You have arrived at the last 
limit, and the impatience of your creditors cannot be ap- 
peased." 

Have they not been told that I am on the eve of real- 
izing important sums by means of my latest invention ? 
If I had not wanted to make a last improvement in it, I 
should have already taken out my patent, and I should 
be drawing my profits from all the great industries of the 
world. For you saw yesterday evening what a success 
it is, little daughter. You cannot deny it — it is certain,^ 
evident, palpable. And in a few days — " 

You have but a few hours left you." 

^^Eh? Are these rogues really getting impatient? It 
seems to mo that theyVe made enough out of me during 
the thirty years theyVe been getting such interest from 
me. They might make themselves obliging for once 
more." 

But, papa, are you forgetting that it is with Monsieur 
Carvajan you have to deal now— with him alone? 
Or did Monsieur Malezeau tell you nothing of all this the 
last time he was here ?" 

The inventor struck his forehead like some one who 
has suddenly found in the depths of his mind a memory 
that had almost vanished. 

“Ah, yes, m^ dear, I do remember something of the 
kind, but I was so interested in telling him about my fur- 
nace — with which I was very satisfied, although I had 
not then added the final improvement — and, once he had 
gone, I thought no more of this wretched business. Ah, 
so iFs Carvajan — yes, yes, of course I -And what does he 
want?" 

“That money you owe him, papa." 

“ That is only right. Has he sent in his claim ?" 

“Hot only sent it in, but obtained a warrant and gone 
through all the formalities which precede a seizure for 
debt." 

“ A seizure ?" 

“ Yes, papa, and an eviction also. Those are the only 


160 


ANTOINETTE. 


two things he has left to do.” 

But, my dear, it seems to me that there has been a 
groat deal of negligence to let so many useless expenses 
be added to the original sum. Why was it not paid at 
once ?” 

Ah, if only it could have been !” was all she said. 

The marquis rubbed his velvet cap up and down upon 
his snowy head, and with a sudden uneasiness, asked : 

‘^Then have we no money of which we can dispose?” 

^‘No, papa. For the last year we have been living 
more simply than even the smallest tradespeople in the 
town. You have not noticed it, because you are indiffer- 
ent to luxury. But it is thanks to this economy that we 
have been able to provide for the expenses of your inven- 
tion. Try as we would we could not muster a thousand 
francs between us, and there is nothing owing us. The 
rent of the farm at Couvrechamps is paid, and we have 
received that of the farm at La Saucelle in advance. The 
Clairefont woods have been cut down almost to a tree. 
There is still the timber in the park which is said to be 
worth sixty thousand francs, but it would spoil the prop- 
erty to let that go.” 

The marquis did not seem to hear the last words. 

I thought of using those sixty thousand francs to take 
out my patent,” he said, as though concluding a train, of 
thought. Just as I am on the point of obtaining a splendid 
result, and for a few miserable thousand francs ! No, it is 
impossible! It‘ would be too terrible a blow. Surely 
more money can be borrowed on the estate, and, if it 
must be, I will give up part oi my rights in the patent. 
Yes, I will sacrifice Asia, Africa, and Australia; it means 
the loss of millions, but at least Europe and America 
would still be left me. And only for a few thousand 
francs ! ” 

Antoinette, pale and cold, looked on at the useless 
struggle her father was waging against himself. It was 
in vain that he reduced the extent of his schemes; in 
vain, that, like a sailor in distress, he threw part of the 
cargo overboard to lighten the ship. It was too late — the 
vortex, in which he was caught, would swallow all. 

Alas, papa,” she said firmly, “ you must relinquish all 
your dreams ; for they can never be realized. All is over, 
over — our last resources are exhausted. Believe me, it 
needs great courage for me to speak to you thus — perhaps 
if I could have made up my mind to do so sooner, we 
should not have reached a state of such utter ruin.” 

My child I” interrupted the inarquis reproachfully. 


ANTOINETTE. 


161 


“ Oh, do not doubt my affection or respect,'^ replied 
Mademoiselle de Clairefont. ‘‘I am proving them to you 
better now by speaking to you thus than I have done 
hitherto by keeping silence. You had the right to dis- 
pose of the fortune that belonged to you in whatever 
way you liked, and not a member of the family will ever 
dream of discussing the use you have chosen to make 
of i V 

How blind you are ! ” cried her father, excitedly. I 
wished — I wish still, to make you all rich ! Can you not 
understand how it was ? Have you no longer any confi- 
dence in me 

Yes papa. But the result has not been in accordance 
with your efforts, and not only have you now no money 
to perserve, but you have not even enough to acquit your 
debts.^' 

“ What do I care about my debts ! I would double the 
sum I owe' without fear or scruple. I am sure of success ! 

You have said that so often, papa.’^ 

Come, come. The situation is not'so desperate as 
you make out. I can understand your uneasiness — you 
others do not know what I have to expect from my new 
discovery. You have not, like me, the realization of 
your hopes within reach of your hand. Oh, you do not 
know the sacrifices ofwhich an inventor is capable to save 
his work. There was Cellini who, seeing that the melting 
bronze would not be sufficient for his statue of Jupiter, 
cast vessels of gold and chased silver into the furnace 
with his own hands. I, my child, to insure the success of 
my invention — I would do anything! So strong is my 
faith in it that I would sell myself! 

Heated by his enthusiasm, the old man^s face was trans- 
figured. He clasped his daughter in his arms, and 
showered the tenderest epithets upon her. All that a 
capricious, coaxing child can do to entreat and wheedle 
its mother to obtain some favor, the old man attempted 
in his efforts to appease Antoinette. ^ But he found her 
insensible to all his endearments. 

^‘Aunt Isabelle has Saint-Maurice intact,’" said the mar- 
quis. Could she not raise enough on it to relieve us 
this once?” 

She would refuse to do so — she has said so, so often. 
She looks upon Saint-Maurice as the last refuge we have 
to go to.” 

“ What ingratitude ! ” exclaimed the marquis bitterly. 

During the whole thirty years she has lived in my 
house have I ever distinguished mine from hers? All has 
11 


162 


ANTOINETTE. 


been in common in times of prosperity. But when mis- 
fortune comes, each one takes his own,^^ 

“No, papa, that is unjust. Aunt Isabelle has already 
paid away more than she can afford, and her disinterest- 
edness is as great as her affection.” 

“But you, my pet, my dear little Toinon — you will 
not leave your father in such a hopeless plight? For I 
shall die if f do not succeed. You have money — your 
brother gave up his share to you, and you possess all 
your mother’s lortune. Save the future of our house — 
rescue Clairefont from ruin! Listen — be my partner; 
I’ll make you a millionaire. Do you hear? Why don’t 
you answer me ? Don’t you understand ? A millionaire, 
and in a year from now ! Wouldn’t that be fine ? Isn’t 
that worth risking something on — and not all your 
dowry, only a part of it.” 

And with eyes wild with eagerness, he stretched out 
his hands imploringly to Antoinette. 

She quivered with grief. To what a depth of moral 
degradation had her father sunk I His passion, like a 
corroding poison, had finished by destroying in him the 
delicacy of the man, the dignity of the head of the family. 
The inan on whom she was gazing was no longer any- 
thing but a monomaniac almost in his second childhood. 
He did not merit reproach; he could but inspire pity. Her 
dowry I He asked her for it, whining like a beggar im- 
ploring alms. He never dreamed, in his ignorance of all 
the privations that had been so cheerfully and heroically 
endured for his sake, that his daughter had already cast 
this very dowry into Ihegulf, sacrificing her marriage, her 
future and her happiness to spare him vexation. With 
swelling heart, Antoinette resigned herself to the neces- 
sity of telling a falsehood to spare the old man the grief 
of hearing that she had stripped herself of her fortune 
to help him. 

“ It is impossible for me to say yes to what you are 
asking, papa,” she replied in a strange voice. 

“What! you refuse me ?” cried the stupefied marquis. 
“You will allow your old father to entreat you to no 
avail? You cannot have understood — or else I am mak- 
ing a mistake : you have not answered no. Then for a 
pitiful sum of money you are going to let us be ruined, you 
are going to allow our creditors to sell the home where 
we have lived, where you were born, where your mother 
died—” 

She stood like marble, saying nothing, and opposing 
nothing but the passive strength of her inertia to the old 


ANTOINETTE. 163 

man's arguments and entreaties. He grew angry— it was 
the first time he had encountered resistance. 

“No doubt you were all agreed— your aunt, your 
brother and you. Probably that explains their absence ? 
They fied, while you, who were bolder, or harder-hearted, 
stayed behind to oppose me. You refuse me salvation ; 
you not only rob me of fortune, but of fame. You are an 
unnatural daughter. Go! I will not tolerate your pres- 
ence. Leave this room ! " 

He advanced towards her, his face distorted with senile 
rage, his lips trembling. She, unable to offer any further 
resistance, burst into tears, threw her arms around her 
father, covered him with tears and caresses, implored him, 
reasoned with him, addressing him alternately like a 
spoiled child and like a reasonable man. 

“ You do not know how unjust and how cruel you are. 
Oh, do not say anything more, do not send me away from 
you, or later on you will regret it bitterly. Ho not ac^ 
cuse either my aunt or my brother— they, like me, would 
give their lives for you. We are the victims of a pitiless, 
fate which pursues us relentlessly. Ho not try to under- 
stand — but we are more unfortunate than you can ever 
dream. Ho not seek to know, only be kind and do not 
be angry with your daughter who loves you, who vener- 
ates you, and whose only joy in this world is your affec- 
tion 1 " 

She threw herself on her knees, and by the very out- 
burst of her grief reduced the old man to silence. But 
she did not succeed in convincing him. He was turning 
his project over and over in his obstinate mind, seeking 
some means by which he might realize it. And the more 
he thought, the firmer did the idea to send for Tondeur 
and sell him the timber in the park take possession of 
him. Standing before the window, apparently absorbed 
in a contemplation of the marvellous panorama which 
lay before him, he was admiring neither the beauty nor 
the variety of the landscape, but only reckoning up what 
he might make out of the great old trees. Independent 
of his patents, he dreamed of the construction of a model 
of his stove, exactly as it ought to be ; and, carried away 
by his imagination, he could see in his mind's eye the 
brass stove finished and perfected, with a small steel plate 
on it, bearing the inscription, “ Clairefont's Consumer." 
And he smiled to himself, admiring his own talents in the 
form of his invention. 

Now he was walking up and down his study, his hands 
in his pockets, humming a tune to'himself. Several times 


164 


ANTOINETTE. 


he passed close beside the arm-chair in which Antoinette 
was sitting; hut he no longer seemed to trouble about her 
presence. At last he seated himself at his desk, and wrote 
down a few hurried notes, as if a sudden observation had 
just struck him; then he went to his laboratory, and the 
young girl heard him poking at the large furnace, and 
busying himself amongst his instruments and vessels. 

Peeling sadder and more lonely amidst this clatter 
than if she had been in the deserted park, she slowly rose 
and left the room. She walked aimlessly along the vast 
corridors, went down a staircase, and started as she found 
herself at the door of her brother's room. She opened it 
and went in. The closed shutters made it dark, but An- 
toinette could see that everything was tidy and in its 
place. The guns stood in their rack ; riding and hunting 
whips hung on the walls, and a sunbeam which had filter- 
ed through a hole in the shutter fell on a hunting-horn, 
making it shine and gleam like gold. 

She could picture Eobert half-mad with impatience and 
anxiety, fighting amidst the ambushes prepared by his 
traducers, giving way perhaps to the anger to which he 
was but too prone, and — who could tell? — aggravating 
his position by acts of violence on which, no doubt, his 
calumniators had reckoned. No one could go to visit 
him. And what a terrible trial, what constant torture it 
must be to this strong, muscular man, accustomed to the 
sweet, fresh air of woods and fields, and to the rough, 
healthy exercise of a country life, to be shut up between 
four walls, always being watched, and often tormented by 
questions to which he certainly could not reply. When 
would they see him again? Would he ever return? 
What was there not to fear from enemies who had been 
able to so far mislead justice as to cause an innocent man 
to be accused of another’s crime? 

She could imagine Aunt Isabelle too, lost in the large 
town, going fruitlessly backwards and forwards from the 
Palais de Justice to the prison, and hanging like a lost dog 
round the walls wiihin which the boy she worshiped was 
dragging out a miserable existence. Poor old woman ! 

Antoinette made up her mind to write to her. She 
lighted a candle ; for a sort of superstition forbade her to 
throw back the shutters, which she determined should re- 
main closed until the owner of the room returned. Then 
she found her brother’s paper, ink and pens, and relieved 
her wounded heart by pouring forth at once her troubles 
and her tears. 

Unwilling for anyone in the neighborhood to learn 


ANTOINETTE. 


165 


whither Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice had gone, she 
sent old Bernard to post her letter at the railway station. 
Then, feeling more composed, she went to her own room 
and passed the day in adding up accounts, looking over 
old papers, and reading the various summonses that had 
been sent to Clairefont. 

When evening came, the father and daughter met again 
at the dinner table. The marquis was very cold to An- 
toinette. He sulked, and did not speak once all throughi 
the meal, but the young girl was almost ready to rejoice 
at this silence. Dessert over, the marquis rose and moved 
aimles'sly about the vast room. For some minutes he 
stood thoughtful and undecided. He threw a sidelong^ 
glance at Antoinette as if he were going to speak to her; 
then, changing his mind with a petulant gesture, he said 
coldly: “Good night, my daughter,^^ and went up to 
his laboratory without kissing her or touching her hand. 

Mademoiselle de Clairefont bent her head as if the 
burden of this unjust rahcor was heavier than she could 
bear. She turned to Fox, gave a low whistle, and going 
into the court-yard, began walking up and down upon the 
flag-stones, without thinking of taking the little path 
which ran along beside the flower-borders. The deer- 
hound gravely followed her, regulating his pace to that 
of his mistress. 

Darkness was stealing silently over fields and woods. 
It was at this hour that Antoinette always used to go out 
for a short stroll every evening with Eobert and her aunt 
before going to keep her father company. In the increas- 
ing darkness, the realization of the terrible position in 
which she was placed was forced cruelly upon her; and 
as she looked round in vain for the ones so dear to her 
and found herself alone, her despair overcame her, and 
unable to continue her walk, she dropped upon a stone 
seat, moaning : “Eobert! Eobert 

A mournful, plaintive howl responded to her cry. The 
deer-hound, with eyes fixed on his mistress as if he knew 
her thoughts and shared her pain, seemed also to be bewail- 
ing the absent one. She spoke to him to pacify him, and 
then sat thinking, her hands on the dog's rough head. 
The clock of the village church struck eight o'clock, and 
rising with a shiver, Antoinette was about to go indoors 
again, when the little wicket-gate opened to admit Mon- 
sieur Malezeau. 

“ Thank heaven that I've found you alone, made- 
moiselle," he said. “ I was so afraid that the marquis 
would be with you." 


166 


ANTOINETTE. 


He stopped, unable to continue for his emotion. My 
poor child I I pity you from the bottom of my heart — 
my poor child ! 

Again he paused, apparently fearing that he had shown 
too much familiarity ; and with a bow which testified the 
deepest respect, began to excuse himself. 

Forgive me for so openly expressing my deep regard for 
you, mademoiselle. I forgot myself; hut I have known 
you since you were a hahy, mademoiselle, and that must 
he my excuse.^' 

But there is no need for any,^^ answered Antoinette. 

Pray do not regret your manifestation of sympathy, 
dear Monsieur Malezeau. We do not receive very many 
just now, and I am exceedingly grateful to those who do 
not forsake us in our trouble, and who dare show us pity.^^ 

Oh, mademoiselle, pray put every confidence in my 
devotion to you,^' stammered the good-hearted lawyer. 
“No power, however formidable it may he, shall hinder 
me from performing my duty towards your family, and I 
have come now to place myself entirely at the disposal of 
the marquis and yourself. If you only knew what pain 
it causes me to see you unhappy. Oh, pray do not cry — 
your tears upset me, and I want all my wits about me just 
now ; for we have some very serious matters to consider.’’ 

Antoinette wiped away the tears which were coursing 
down her cheeks, and trying to regain her calmness ; 

“What is happening?” she asked, “Tell me all — I 
must he left in ignorance of nothing. And first of all, 
about my brother — ” 

“ Oh, mademoiselle, by what unhappy chance did you 
not take him with you when you left the ball the evening 
before last ! How imprudent it was even to go there !” 

“ But how were we to guess what was to happen ?” 

“ Great heavens ! You should have feared everything ! 
This Carvajan;” and as he uttered the name, Malezeau 
instinctively lowered his voice as if he feared lest the 
night-breeze should carry his words to the house in the 
Eue du Marche— “this Carvajan is neither more or less 
than a tiger let loose. It is he who has stirred up everyone 
against your brother; it is he who has put the law on his 
track — why, if the arrest had not been made, it is impos- 
sible to say what might have happened; the people 
were on the verge of a riot. Oh, the parquet is doing its 
duty and is causing every inquiry to be made; in fact, sev- 
eral well-known bad characters have been actually taken 
up on suspicion, but nothing could be found against them, 
while with regard to this unhappy Robert — ah ! the snare 


ANTOINETTE. 


167 


has been well laid !’' 

‘‘But can nothing he done to disarm Carvajan^s an- 
ger 

“ A week ago I should have replied, ‘ Satisfy his ambi- 
tion and his greed. Give him up the Great Marl-Pit with 
a good grace. ^ But would he have been contented with 
this substantial satisfaction ? He hates your father and 
everyone connected with him. Unfortunately, you are 
entirely in his power, and you must not reckon on his 
generosity."' 

“ Ah, let Clairefont perish j let the Great Marl-Pit go ; 
let the wreck of our fortune be lost in the general ruin; 
but let my brother be given back to us I” 

“ Depend upon it, mademoiselle, that nothing that may 
bring about that result shall be left undone, mademoiselle. 
But unhappily, we have plenty of time for our efforts — " 

“Then it will be a long while before we know?" 

“ Several weeks, I am sorry to say, mademoiselle. 
Justice is slow, mademoiselle." 

“ How shall we be able to keep my father in ignorance 
of what is happening?" 

“ It will be exceedingly difficult to do so." 

“And yet, to tell him all would be to kill him. He 
could not bear so terrible a blow. A conversation I had 
with him this morning on money matters has thoroughly 
upset him — he has not yet got over it. What can you 
expect? He is not accustomed to worry and trouble. 
Until now, we have been so careful to keep everything 
of the sort to ourselves, and he has been able to devote 
himself with perfect freedom of mind to the labors which 
are his one delight. He has always had so much confi- 
dence in his discoveries. I always hoped — if by any 
chance he has indeed found what he has been seeking, 
would it not be wicked to deprive him of the result for 
which he has worked so hard." 

“ Don't let us think about tha't, just for the present, 
mademoiselle. The question is what you intend doing. 
Your property is on the eve of being seized for debt. 
Judgment has been given, and a delay has only been ob- 
tained, thanks to a series of oppositions which have only 
resulted in giving you time at a cost of great expense. 
Even now I could still find means to leave you in pos- 
session of your home a few days longer, but sooner or 
later the blow must fall, and these delays only exasperate 
Carvajan. On the other hand, if we allow the law to fol- 
low its course, we have the chance of seeing your broth- 
er's case disposed of, before the sale takes place. Freed 


168 


ANTOINETTE. 


from all other cares, we can turn all our thoughts to his 
defence. We will ask some eminent Paris barrister to 
plead his cause, and we may be able to rescue him from 
the hands of your enemies. Then once he is out of dan- 
ger we shall have nothing to consider except how to make 
the most out of the estate. To that end, we will send 
notices to all the lawyers in the department, and in the 
Capital to find a good purchaser for the chateau and the 
other property. We will communicate with the lime- 
burners at Senonches, pointing out the danger of compe- 
tition and urging them to bid for the G-reat Marl-Pit to 
prevent a new proprietor underselling them. Carvajan, 
who has set his mind on having it, will not hesitate to bid 
against them, and by such a contest it will fetch a tremen- 
dous price. So that when it is at last bought, the marquis 
will have, after all his debts are paid, some two or three 
hundred thousand francs, which I will undertake to invest 
that he may live at Saint-Maurice in a way not totally 
unworthy of his rank. And that, my dear young lady, 
is the plan I have thought out and which I have come 
to-night to propose to you.” 

Yes, that is what we must do,” assented Antoinette ; 

it is what reason prompts. And after all the torment 
and sorrow I have passed through, I think I shall be able 
to leave this house almost without a regret — my suffering 
here has been so keen. I place myself in your hands. 
Monsieur MaUzeau. See my father, reason with him, 
m^ke him consent to leave the arrangement of his affairs 
to you and myself. . And let us keep him in ignorance of 
all else until my brother has returned; then, when the 
danger is over, we can let him guess the anxious time we 
have passed through — the joy will be enough to make him 
forget it.” 

Mal6zeau looked at the girl with pitying admiration. 
Then he seized her hands and pressed them tightly. 

Yes, mademoiselle. You are 'quite right, mademoi- 
selle—” 

He broke off abruptly — another word, and he would . 
have cried. When they reached the hail, Antoinette 
stopped. 

“ I am going to my own room,” she said. If you have 
anything to tell me before you leave, please send for me.” 

Antoinette shut herself up in her room and waited anx- 
iously. She felt vaguely nervous; she distrusted her 
father’s want of reasoning powers; she feared lest he 
should put some unlooked-for obstacles in the way, and so 
destroy the frail structure v/hich had been erected to hide 


ANTOINETTE. 


169 


the truth from him. For au hour she waited thus, strain- 
ing her ears to catch every sound within the chateau; 
then she heard Malezeau go down stairs, saw him cross 
the court-yard' and pass through the gate. A few min- 
utes later, old Bernard knocked at her door, and gave her 
a note the attorney had hastily written before he left. 
There were only a few words — “Do not worry. The 
marquis will listen to reason. I shall come again to-mor- 
row about mid-day.^' 

That night Carvajan passed in restless agitation. The 
nearer the moment when all his hopes were to be real- 
ized, the more impatient did the banker become. Sure 
that the marquis could not escape his toils, he yet found 
himself giving way to fits of violent anxiety and irrita- 
tion. Pascal had gone away the day before to Havre, 
where, so he said, he had some business of importance to 
attend to, and would not be back until the morrow. 
Fleury had come that evening to receive some final in- 
structions about the important transaction which was 
about to take place, and, detained by the mayor, who 
talked with unwonted vivacity, had not been able to get 
away until the night was very far advanced. Then, when 
he was at last alone, Carvajan went up to his room, where 
he paced to and fro like a caged tiger, until the day had 
almost dawned. 

During this night of unrest, he went once more all 
through the past, stimulating his hatred and fortifying his 
malice with his recollections. There was an exquisite 
delight in the thought that the marquis was at last at his 
mercy, and that he would be able to make him drain the 
cup of humiliation to the very dregs. To his enemy's 
moral torments, he meant to add the hardships of material 
difficulties. To make this proud nobleman undergo the 
horrors of a seizure for debt, to place him in the clutches 
of the bailiff and his men, to force him to look on while 
they did as they chose ; to allow the heirlooms so precious 
to a family, the ancestral portraits, the various objects be- 
queathed by a father or a mother, to be subjected to the 
odious valuation which sullies relics so sacred as these ; 
to introduce into the chateau, under shelter of the law, 
strangers who would have the right to lay their hands on 
everything, to open every door, to turn out every cup- 
board ; to inflict upon the marquis the degrading torture 
of seeing an inventory taken of his dearest treasures and 
possessions — such was his project of revenge. 

The following morning, he rose at his accustomed hour, 
opened his letters, received one or two visitors, and as he 


170 


ANTOINETTE. 


heard nine o’clock strike^ said to himself, “Papillon and 
Fleury are just starting for Clairefont/’ Even as the 
thought passed through his mind, there came a knock at 
the front door, and Tondeur’s loud voice was heard ask- 
ing ; 

‘‘ Is the master in ? I must see him at once ! ” 

Carvajan opened the door himself. He guessed that 
something unforeseen had happened, and felt a horrible, 
nervous dread. He glared at the timber-merchant as if 
he could have consumed him with the fire of his glance, 
and asked roughly : 

What is the matter ? ” 

The matter is that the marquis sent for me the very 
first thing this morning to propose the rummest thing out. 
I should never have believed it of him, by Jove ! ” 

Can’t you speak out, you cursed idiot ? ” cried the 
mayor, exasperated by Tondeur’s circumlocution. “ Get 
to the fact ! What did he want with you ? ” 

“ To sell me all the timber in the park, this very morn- 
ing, for sixty thousand francs ; and its worth a hundred 
thousand at the least, as sure as I’m a living sinner. But 
I said no. The^ he came down to fifty thousand. Still 
I said no. He turned very white, and said, ‘I must have 
forty thousand or I won’t sell at all.’ ‘ As you like, sir,’ 
I replied. ^ But I can do nothing without Monsieur Carva- 
jan’s consent. He only could authorize the trees to be 
cut down. Fichtre ! If I ran on ahead like that, I should 
find myself in a nice hole, now everything is going to be 
seized.’ Then the old man walked up and down a few 
minutes, mumbling to himself : ^ Forty thousand francs 
and two months’ grace would save me.’ Then he asked 
me : ^ Do you think Monsieur Carvajan would come and 

see me?’ ‘Can’t say,’ I answered, ‘you’d better ask 
him !’ ‘ Well, will you ask him for me? ’ he said. ‘ Oh, 

certainly, if you like, sir,’ said I. And with that I cut off 
as fast as my legs would carry me, and reached here in a 
quarter of an hour.” 

“ Let us go there !” 

“ Hallo !” said the timber-merchant. “ Are you and the 
old savage going to meet face to face?” 

“ I must know what he wants. Papillon and Fleury 
must have started by now.” 

“ I met them at the town-gate.” 

“ Oh, well, we shall catch them up on the plateau.” 

^^Bouffre!” exclaimed Tondeur. “I shall lose ten 
pounds of flesh before I’ve done to-day.” He began to 
laugh, choked, and was seized with a fit of coughing 


ANTOINETTE. 


171 


which made him turn purple. 

Carvajan was already striding up the Rue du Marche. 
Again he was on his way to Clairefont, as he had been 
thirty years before. But under what different circum- 
stances ! Then he had run thither in the darkness, stum- 
bling over the obstacles in his way, nearly mad with an- 
guish. Now he walked firmly along a smooth, hard road 
in the broad daylight, proudly conscious of his power, 
and with the end at which he aimed well in view. As he 
walked, he could have cried aloud to the trees, the stones, 
and the ditches that he passed : “ Do you recognize me? 

I am the miserable wretch you saw pass one evening, 
weeping and despairing, seeking the woman he loved — 
the poor friendless youth that could be ridiculed, insulted, 
and struck with impunity. Now I return as a conquerer, 
and to-day I can give back, if I please, insult for insult, 
and blow for blow. The wheel has turned in thirty 
years, has it not? I was beneath, now I am at the top— 
but I am the same ! No,” he thought, those shady ave- 
nues, which to-morrow will be mine, shall not be laid low. 
I will not have my property injured ; for soon I shall be 
living there myself^ rejoicing in the fact of dwelling 
where my enemy once dwelt, and of being happy in his 
place.” 

They were now passing the white slopes of the Great 
Marl-Pit. The arid, chalky mound was an eyesore to 
Carvajan. I will have a triple row of trees planted,” he 
said to himself, to hide the works.” For he already re- 
garded himself as the master to dispose of the land and 
make such alterations as he thought fit. 

Before they reached the chateau gate, he and Tondeur 
caught up to Fleury, Papillon, and his man. 

He opened the gate himself, and stepped the first with- 
in the court-yard. He moved forward, with eyes fixed on 
the ground, looking for the spot where he had fallen be- 
neath the feet of the marquis" horses, his face scarred with 
a bleeding cut. He was not long in finding it — there it 
was, near a small clump of rose-trees bordered with mignon- 
ette. He paused for a moment, and trampled on it as if to 
efface some trace that still remained; then, still under the 
influence of this odious memory, he was about to enter the 
house, when, on the threshold of the door, he found him- 
self face to face with Mademoiselle de Clairefont. 

Neither uttered a word. Antoinette, without moving, 
glanced inquiringly at Fleury and Papillon, whose com- 
ing she had expected. Carvajan did not deign an ex- 
planation. His forehead was scowling and clouded. He 


172 


ANTOINETTE. 


felt that he was in the presence of the one antagonist left 
him to combat in this house ; that his hatred was fast 
turning into a desert and a wilderness. He shivered^ and 
his triumphant joy forsook him — it seemed as if all was not 
yet over between these Clairefonts and himself. With a 
gesture, he commanded Tondeur to explain. 

“ The marquis, mademoiselle, asked me this morning to 
beg Monsieur Carvajan to give him a few moments^ con- 
versation. And his worship has been good enough to 
come here with me/' 

Carvajan with the marquis? All the danger of such a 
meeting appeared at once to Antoinette's mind. 

“Then I will take Monsieur Carvajan to my father's 
room," she said slowly. “And you, gentlemen, do what 
you have to do. Bernard, go with these gentlemen, and 
do as they bid you " 

She went upstairs, followed by Carvajan and Tondeur. 
The suffering she went through as she ascended those 
twenty steps, surpassed by far all that she had hitherto 
endured. She knew that her father regarded her with 
distrust, that she had lost her influence over him, and was 
no longer able to defend him from the blows that his 
worst enemies were preparing to strike him to the heart. 
She was in an agony of dread. She even thought of 
turning to Carvajan, and saying ; 

“What is it that you want? Hame your conditions, 
but do not enter my father's presence." 

The opening of the laboratory door put an end to her 
irresolution. The marquis had heard his enemy arrive, 
and was coming to meet him. He frowned when he saw 
his daughter; but Antoinette bravely prepared to enter 
the room. Then her father touched her arm, and said 
gently : 

“ Gro, my child. I have to speak to these gentlemen on 
business. If I need you, I will send for you." 

“But, papa — " anxiously expostulated the girl. 

Carvajan looked up; and with a sneer on his mouth, 
and with his yellow eyes fixed on Monsieur de Clairefont : 

“If the marquis is under control," he said, “ I fail to 
understand why I am here." 

“ Gro, my child," repeated the marquis, with a touch of 
impatience in his tone. 

Then, fearing to displease her father by appearing to 
resist him, yet terrified at the thought of what was about 
to happen, Antoinette withdrew. 

The inventor and the banker stood face to face. Ton- 
deur retired discreetly to a corner, as though he took no 


ANTOINETTE. 


173 


interest in whatever might be said or done. In his role 
of skilful ambassador, he had managed to introduce Car- 
vajan into the house; now it was for his master to make 
the most of the situation. 

I asked Tondeur to bring you here, sir,'^ began the 
marquis, that we might settle for ourselves the monetary 
questions which rest between us. You have in your 
possession most of my bills and notes of hand. I am not 
going to discuss the reasons which have prompted you to 
collect them — I will go straight to the point. I believe I 
have found the means of acquitting myself of my debt, 
but to attain this result I must have two months^ grace, 
and the sum of forty thousand francs. Under what 
conditions will you grant me the one and lend me the 
other.'^ 

The mayor stared at the marquis with stupefied amaze- 
ment. He asked himself if it was really to him that such a 
request had been addressed. NaiveU, carried to such a 
degree as this, aroused his suspicions — he could not be- 
lieve that his enemy could be so extraordinarily blind. 
To ask a service of him, to have apparently forgotten all 
his extortion, all his calumny, all his affronts, and lastly, 
his most recent and most terrible blow — the arrest of 
Eobert, which the whole country attributed to him as the 
cause. This inexplicable forgiveness evidently concealed 
some trap from which, once he was caught in it, there 
would be no chance of escape. He gathered all his wits 
together and reflected. 

The marquis saw the banker^s amazement, and put it 
down to hesitation. “ Do not fear to ask too much. I 
will agree to whatever you wish. I am so sure of success.^^ 

Success ! ' This one word dissipated the shadows in 
which the tyrant of La Heuvillewas losing himself. He 
remembered the furnace of which he had heard so 
much. It was on the future of this invention that the 
marquis based his hopes of retrieving himself. It was by 
means of this extraordinary consumer that he proposed 
again to set going the work at the G-reat Marl-Pit, to pay 
his debts, to rebuild his fortune. The banker began to 
understand the situation. The marquis was subordinat- 
ing all to his invention; to insure its success, he was 
forgetting the struggles of the past, the troubles of the 
present, overcoming his dislikes, and, in short, sacrificing 
the child of his flesh to the child of his brain. 

“No doubt it is your furnace about which you are so 
anxious,’^ C.arvajan said, looking coldly at the marquis. 
“ But I must remind you that I am here to receive money 


174 


ANTOINETTE. 


and not to lend it — to terminate one transaction and not 
to commence another. Is that all you had to say to 
me?^' Oarvajan^s cold, cutting voice put a sudden stop 
the marquis^ ecstasies. 

But under what pretext do you intend me to lend you 
money to try the merits of your invention? Do you 
think I am going to amuse myself by giving you ammu- 
nition to help you carry on war against myself ? I can 
quite see what are your interests in all this — but where 
are mine ? I am not a man to be contented with hollow 
words and humanitarian theories. Progress and industry 
are all very nice, but self first ! There is nothing to prove 
to me that you will turn to advantage the capital you are 
asking of me, and I have enough money out already. 
You owe me nearly four hundred thousand francs, my 
dear sir, a hundred and sixty thousand of which are due 
to me this very morning. Are you in a position to 
pay me ? 

“No, sir,^^ the marquis whispered, lowering his head. 

“Your servant then. And in future, pray remember 
not to trouble people simply to talk trash to them, and 
that when a man can't pay his debts he oughtn't to give 
himself the airs of a genius. Ha, ha! The consumer in- 
deed I By the way, it belongs to me now, like everything 
else here. And if it is worth anything, I really don't see 
why I shouldn't work it myself—;" 

“ You ! " 

“Yes, I, marquis. I think the moment has come when 
you may as well give up all attempt at diplomacy. You 
surely cannot hope to take in anyone so shrewd as I am ? 
Although — and I say it with all due compliment to you — 
you have attempted to do so, though I never thought you 
would fight so hard. But now it's all up. You no longer 
preserve any illusions on the subject, I suppose? All 
that there is left for you to do is to pack up your odds 
and ends, and say good-bye to your country-house." The 
tyrant planted himself in front of Monsieur de Clairefont, 
and, his face lighted up with malicious glee, resumed : 

“ Thirty years ago you had me thrown out of your 
house. To-day it is my turn. A bailiff is below taking 
an inventory." He burst into an insulting laugh, and 
thrusting, his hands into his pockets with insolent famili- 
arity, walked up and down the room with the air of a 
master. 

The marquis had listened to his harangue with stupe- 
faction. The illnisions he had still preserved fled in a 
second, as the clouds disperse before the breath of the 


ANTOINETTE. 


175 


storm-wind. His reason returned to him ; he regained his 
judgment, and blushed at having lowered himself so far 
as to make proposals to Carvajan. He no longer saw in 
him the lender always ready for an advantageous invest- 
ment — he recognized the bitter, determined enemy of his 
family. 

I was mistaken,^' he said contemptuously. I thought 
I still possessed enough to tempt your cupidity.’^ 

“ Oh, insolence/' returned the banker, coldly. That 
is a luxury in which your means will not permit you to 
indulge, my dear sir. When a man's in people's debt he 
should try to pay them in other coin than abuse." 

You are able to take advantage of my position, sir,"^ 
said the marquis bitterly. I am at your mercy, and I 
ought not to be surprised at anything since my own chil- 
dren have been the first to forsake me. What considera- 
tion can I expect from a stranger, when my daughter 
closes her purse to me and my son leaves me to fight the 
battle alone ? But let us put an end to this interview. 
There is nothing more to be said on either side." 

Carvajan made a gesture of surprise ; then his face light- 
ed up with a diabolical delight. 

‘‘ Excuse me," he said. I see you have fallen in- 
to an error, and that I must undeceive you. You are ac- 
cusing your son and daughter wrongfully. Ho doubt you 
asked Mademoiselle de Clairefont to relieve you from 
your embarrassments and she refused, as you pretend ? 
She had very good reasons for her refusal — the money 
you asked she gave long ago. So you complain of her 
ingratitude? Well, then, let me tell you that she has 
ruined herself for you, and secretly — imploring that 
you should not be told the use she had made of her for- 
tune. And this is what you call closing her purse to 
you !" 

The marquis did not utter a word, did not breathe one 
sigh. A wave of blood rushed to his head, and he turned 
first crimson, then livid. He only looked at Carvajan as 
might a victim at his murderer. He felt as though his 
heart were being wrung within his breast. He took a 
few steps ; then, forgetting that his tormentor was still 
present, mechanically seated himself in his arm-chair, and 
leaning his head against the back, moved it restlessly 
from side to side. 

But the mayor followed him, taking an exquisite de- 
light in the agony of his enemy, and overpowering and 
crushing him with the weight of his hatred. 

As for your son," he went on, if he is not with you 


176 


ANTOINETTE. 


now, you may be sure it is through no want of inclination 
on his part. He was arrested yesterday, and taken to 
Houen under the escort of two gendarmes.^^ 

The marquis leaped to his feet. He seized thef banker; 
and with quivering lips and flamihg eyes, forced him 
back against one of the stone pillars with irresistible 
force, crying : 

Scoundrel ! You lie ! Confess it was a lie, or I will 
strangle you 

The two men struggled together thus for the space of 
a few seconds, but the marquis' temporary strength soon 
forsook him, and bruised and shaken, he fell fainting into 
the arms of Tondeur, who had come to his aid. 

Curse him for an old rascal ! " cried the mayor, 
angrily. ^^He wants to try on his old games again. 
Tondeur, I call you to witness that he has offered violence 
to a municipal authority. By heaven. Til have him be- 
fore the court for it ! " 

^‘Come, Monsieur Carvaj an, calm yourself," said Ton- 
deur, who felt sorry for the old marquis. It was a 
heavy blow you dealt him, and he was not master of him- 
self at first." 

The old man's eyes unclosed again, and with a face dis- 
torted with grief, he repeated brokenly : 

Committed for trial ? My son— my Eobert ? Can it 
be possible ? What has he done ?" 

Carvajan drew nearer, until his crimson face was almost 
touching the marquis’; and then replied : 

“ He has followed in his father’s footsteps. He too has 
abducted a girl, only this one tried to defend herself, and 
so he strangled her. That’s what he ha? done.’’ 

Monsieur de Clairefont rose, and addressing his enemy 
in a tone of prayer : 

He cannot be guilty,’’ he said, it is impossible, sir; 
he is my son. You too have a child — think of what my 
suffering must be. Poor boy, innocent, I know, of the 

crime of which he is accused ! I am at your niercy I 

will do anything you wish — I acknowledge my faults— 
but I implore you, for I feel you could do all for my 
poor Eobert; be indulgent, save him! Give him back to 
me again !’’ 

Carvajan listened with arms folded, perfectly impas- 
sive. 

Ah ? Just now you were insulting me- now you are 
using entreaty. Coward and hypocrite ! Am I a friend 
that I should do you a service’’ 

Monsieur Carvajan, I regret intensely any injury I 


ANTOINETTE. 


177 


have done you.^^ 

“Do you think you can efface the outrage with a few 
words of that sort ? I still bear its traces on my cheek, 
although so many years have passed. See, look at that 
spot, at the foot of the steps. It was there that by your 
orders your horses overthrew me, your lackeys struck 
me.^' 

“ Then come down thither with me,” said the marquis 
eagerly. “ If you wish, I will go to that very place, and 
there on my knees ask mercy for my son.” 

For a moment the tyrant stood still and dumb before 
his vanquished, weeping, supplicating enemy. He saw 
the tears running down Honore^s cheeks. “ He is crushed 
— he is at my feet,” he thought. “ The dream of my life 
has become a reality. I triumph, and I am happy.” Again 
he told himself: “I am happy;” but he knew he was 
not. The bitterness was still in his heart, his thirst for 
vengeance was not yet quenched. He turned on his heel 
and moved away. 

“ I care little for your amendes honorahles” he replied. 
“ It would always be the same thing over and over again 
with you and your son, and now I have you, I will not 
let you go. It is you who commenced the fight — do not 
be astonished if I pursue it to the death. Bank, fortune, 
respect — you had all and I nothing. Soon, the balance 
between us will be equal.” 

As he listened to these hard words, the marquis saw 
that all hope was gone. 

“ If Heaven is just, you will be punished through your 
son,” he cried. “ Yes, since you have no pity for mine, 
yours will show no regard for you. Scoundrel ! You are 
the parent of an honest man. He it is who will chastise 
you ! ” 

These words, uttered by the marquis with the fire of 
madness, made Carvajan shudder with fear and rage. 

“ Why do you say that to me ? ” he cried. He saw the 
old man walking aimlessly to and fro, with haggard eyes 
and wild gesticulation. “ I believe he is going mad ! ” he 
whispered to Tondeur. 

“ Ha, ha I ” laughed the marquis. “ My enemies them- 
selves will avenge me. Yes, the son is an honorable 
man — he has already left his father's house" once — ^^he 
will loathe what he will see being done around him. 
Get out of here, you monster I ” he exclaimed, suddenly 
turning on Carvajan. “Your work is done. You have 
robbed me of my fortune; you have robbed me of my 
honor. There is but my model left, and that you shall 
12 


178 


ANTOINETTE. 


not have ! ” 

He ran to his table, tore up his designs, and trampled 
them underfoot. Then, seizing a heavy hammer, he hur- 
ried to the stove; and, laughing horribly all the time, tried 
to break it. Carvajan, in his exasperation, stepped for- 
ward to stop him. But the old man turned round with 
hair bristling and his mouth foaming. 

Stay where you are, or 1^11 kill you ! ” he cried. 

^^SacMU! I’m not afraid of you !” returned, the banker. 

And he was on the point of rushing forward to save 
the stove from the destructive rage of the inventor, when 
the door was thrown open, and Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font appeared. She had heard from below the marquis’ 
high, excited tones. 

“ Father ! ” she cried. 

She sprang to him, took the hammer from him ; and 
clasping him in her arms, asked in terror : 

Father, what is it ? ” 

Honors passed his hand over his forehead. 

Send away that man,” he moaned. He makes me ill 
— he is killing me.” 

Antoinette turned to Carvajan, and said quietly: 

My father asks you to he good enough to leave him, 
sir.” 

And as the banker hesitated, and remained where he 
was, a flash shot from Mademoiselle de Clairefont’s eyes, 
and pointing to the door, she said one word ; 

The mayor bowed in silence, and, followed by Tondeur, 
who tried to make himself as small as he could, went out 
of the room. 

Then Antoinette seated her father in the large arm-chair, 
and kneeling beside him, chafed his icy hands, wiped the 
perspiration from his forehead, and, as he stjU remained 
inert and his eyes did not unclose : 

Father,” she said, “ it is I. Speak to me, papa. You • 
frighten me.” 

Honore breathed a sigh of pain, moved, and_, opening 
his eyes, recognized Antoinette. Then the tears welled 
up again, and with an effort folding his hands as if in 
prayer : 

“ Oh, my child, my angel ! ” he said. I have accused 
you and misjudged you. Forgive me, forgive — ” 

He fell backwards and lost consciousness. At the same 
moment a rapid step was heard upon the stairs, and Mon- 
sieur de Croix-Mesnil came in. 

Antoinette,” he cried, advancing with outstretched 


ANTOINETTE. 


179 


hands. 

I was expecting yon/’ she said simply. 

Good Heavens ! Have I come too late ? ” 

Ho, for alas ! we have still much snifering to under- 
go.” And pointing to the marquis lying lifeless : Help 

me to carry my father to his room.” 

Carefully and tenderly they raised the old man, who 
whimpered like an infant, in their arms, and sadly and 
slowly bore their burden down the stone staircase. 

CHAPTEE IX. 

The hours which followed were hours of terrible anxi- 
ety. Croix-Mesnil did everything within his power, but he 
could not reassure Antoinette about her father’s condition. 

Watching with the baron at her father’s bedside, An- 
toinette passed the most agonizing moments of her exist- 
ence. Seated by the table, on which stood a lamp which 
left most of the room in darkness, she listened to the 
labored breathing of the sick man and the meaningless, 
incoherent words which fell from his lips; and though 
her eyes were fixed on the staunch friend who had hurried 
to her side at the first whisper of misfortune, neither of 
them spoke. 

Sore at heart and physically exhausted, the girl was 
haunted by the gloomiest presentiments. She could not 
even concentrate her thoughts upon the invalid who was 
lying dully moaning, a prey to violent delirium ; for they 
fled to her brother, who was in still greater, though less im- 
mediate peril. What a Calvary for the poor girl to climb, 
and how heavy the cross she had to bear! Her nerves 
were all unstrung and she felt weak and helpless. Her 
head was heavy and burning, and she longed to cry ; for 
she knew that if her tears could but flow freely she would 
be refreshed and calmed. But her eyes were dry and 
sunk beneath their lids, as if drawn inwards by the inten- 
sity of her thoughts. 

At ten o’clock, old Bernard came in on tiptoe to ask if 
they would not come down to supper. Antoinette shook 
her head, though Croix-Mesnil begged her to go down- 
stairs with him, reminding her that she had eaten nothing 
since morning, and that she must keep up her strength^ if 
she would nurse her father. At last he made her promise 
to take some soup, but she would not consent to leave the 
sick-room. 

It was through the papers that Croix-Mesnil had first 


180 


ANTOINETTE. 


heard about it. A brother officer had lent him the Gourrier 
de VEure, and with horrified surprise he had read the his- 
tory of the crime and learned the arrest of the pretended 
murderer. He had at once asked for twenty-four hours' 
leave, and had hastened off to Clairefont. As he traveled, 
the other papers of the department had soon enlightened 
him as to which way popular opinion flowed, and he 
found it was already divided into two currents — the one 
being in favor of Robert, the other against him ] and un- 
fortunately the second was far stronger than the first. 
The question, thanks to the skilful instigations of Carva- 
jan's partisans, was turned into one of political importance. 
The radical papers teemed with anathemas hurled at the 
sanguinary sports of these last representatives of the 
feudal system, who thought they could stili dispose, ac- 
cording to their abominable caprice, of the honor and the 
lives of their inferiors.” Chassevent, designated as “ a 
venerable old man, and an honest laborer,” was described 
as weeping for his daughter, the support of his old age; and' 
the whole wound up with a strongly-worded appeal to 
the firmness of the judges and the severity of the jury ; for 
so deadly a crime merited an exemplary punishment. 

Seated beside one another, he very sad, she very pale, 
they talked together in the dim light of the lamp which 
was turned down as though they were watching beside a 
death-bed. Every now and then they ceased their con- 
versation to listen to the old man who, in his delirium, 
uttered dire threats which he alternated with a lamentable 
laugh. And these pitiful wanderings, muttered between 
clenched teeth, brought them back with a shudder to the 
terrible reality. 

“Always Carvajan ! It is he who has brought this ac- 
cusation against Robert, is it not ?” asked Croix-Mesnil. 

“ So Monsieur Mal6zeau thinks. And how can we 
doubt it after what passed the evening before ? He has 
avenged himself in an awful way for the insult my brother 
offered him. Alas, we have greatly contributed to our 
misfortunes ourselves, and we have been very imprudent 
in many ways. We are right in blaming our enemies; 
but, to be just, we ought to commence by blaming our- 
selves.” 

Then, like a protest against this frankness and humility., 
the hissing voice of the marquis was heard in the shadow 
of the recess in which stood his bed, repeating: 

“ Carvajan ! The scoundrel ! Fortune, honor— all, ex- 
cept my invention !” 

About two o'clock in the morning, she went to her 


ANTOINETTE. 


181 


father’s side and watched him attentively. His face was 
less contorted, his breathing more regular, and he seemed 
calmer. A flood of joy swept over her, and suddenly the 
tears, that the most bitter pain had not been able to wring 
from her, burst forth, now that her heart was glowing with 
a ray of hope. She clasped her hands together, and fell 
on her knees ; and Croix-Mesnil heard her praying God 
to spare her father to her. He tried to raise her, to com- 
fort her ; but she said : 

Leave me. It does me good to cry. I was choking.” 

See,” she added, pointing to the marquis, “ I think he 
is better — he has ceased to rave. Oh, if we can only 
save him ! I was thinking just now how more than cruel 
it would he if Eobert never saw him again, and if the idea 
should take possession of him that it was grief for him 
that had caused his father’s death.” 

You will save him,” replied the baron, with emotion, 
“and you will see father and son again united. The 
wicked do not always triumph, and, in spite of what peo- 
ple say, there is a Divinity.” 

“ I believe so, firmly,” answered Antoinette, simply. 
For a few minutes they remained at the bedside, looking 
at the old man ; then Mademoiselle de Clairefont told her 
companion .she wished to watch alone. 

“ If I want any help, I promise to send for you,” she 
added ; and after some little resistance, Croix-Mesnil 
obeyed her. 

The chateau was wrapped in silence, and everything 
seemed to sleep. Outside in the night could be heard the 
melanchoty wail of an owl, but his ill-omened cry did not 
trouble the young girl — it only sounded to her like an 
echo of her own sorrow. She lay back in an easy-chair, 
her eyes fixed on an angle of the mantel-piece, which 
gleamed in the light, allowing her imagination to carry 
her far away. 

Gradually there stole over her a sensation of being 
buoyed up, as if she were floating in space, rocked by 
gentle winds — no longer conscious of fatigue or sorrow, 
she was being slowly wafted through a soft and bound- 
less atmosphere. Her bosom heaved more regularly — 
she had fallen asleep. 

This slumber lasted a full hour ; then it seemed to her 
as if a voice were summoning her from the depth of her 
repose. She started to her feet, and hurried to the bed- 
side. Her father was supporting himself upon his elbow, 
and looking round with vacant, startled eyes. She gently 
spoke to him, and he took her hand and pressed it, as if 


182 


ANTOINETTE. 


to let her know that he recognized her ; then articulating 
the words with difficulty, he said : 

You must see this young man, my child.. He is honest 
— it is he who will save your brother.^^ 

She thought the words were but the outcome of a fever- 
ish hallucination, of some delirious idea. She kissed the 
old man to soothe him ; and giving way to his fancy, as 
one does with a child, she answered : 

Yes, papa, yes. Lie down and rest. All will be 
well.^' 

He nodded his white head, raised his eyes, which for a 
moment lost their vacant look; and in a tone which 
sounded prophetic to his daughter, he repeated ; 

It is this young man who will save us. He is honest. 
You must see him, my child. 

He tried to turn towards her, but the muscles of his 
neck pained him at the attempt; his features contracted, 
and again the look of delirium came over his face. 

He was there just now,^' he murmured, <^he was im- 
ploring you — I recognized him at once — there, close be- 
side the curtains — ” 

“ That was Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil, papa.^^ 

“No, no,^^ replied the sick man, with increasing excite- 
ment. “ I know what I am saying — I am in my right 
senses. It was Pascal Carvajan, and it is he alone who 
can save your brother. Promise me that you will see 
him. I shall have no rest until you promise.^^ 

“ Gro to sleep then, papa. I do promise you.^^ 

The marquis^ features relaxed. He lay back with an 
expression of peacefulness upon his face, muttering some 
words which his daughter could not catch ; then in a few 
minutes he was quietly sleeping. 

Mademoiselle de Clairefont sat thinking. The image 
of Pascal, so suddenly recalled to her memory, was before 
her eyes. By what strange intuition had the old man 
been led to designate Pascal as RoberPs possible deliv- 
erer? Had some supernatural power shown him the 
young man in the wanderings of his dreams ? He pre- 
tended to recognize him, and he had never seen him. 
What soft voice had whispered his name in his ear ? How 
came it that at this decisive hour he rose on his bed of 
suffering with an authority which was irresistible to give 
so bold a counsel ? Surely it was her — Antoinette's - - duty 
to follow that advice. She had promised to do so, and in 
the inmost recess of her heart a vague hope was already 
taking root. Perhaps it was here that safety was to be 
found.. Much might be gained from the father through 


ANTOINETTE. 


183 


the son, and if Carvajan's hatred, appeased by the capitu- 
lation of his enemies, should fade away into indif- 
ference — ! 

At this thought a violent excitement took possession of 
the young girl. What? She could hesitate and deliber- 
ate when the happy result was in her hands ? Her lips 
curved in a bitter smile ; for at the price of what a humili- 
ation was this result to be obtained ! She would have to 
go and see Pascal, to reason with, to entreat him. After 
she had so distinctly given him to understand that he was 
less than nothing to her, that a Carvajan had nothing but 
contempt to expect from a Clairefont, she would have 
to present herself as a supplicant, weeping for mercy. 

Well, she would do it, and find joy in the deed. What 
sacrifice would be too great to insure her brother's deliv- 
erance? Besides, did she not owe some expiation ? She 
was partly responsible for their common misfortune ; for 
she had been haughty and disdainful; and so she prepared 
to offer her pride as a tribute to their enemy. She would 
go to Carvajan himself, should there be need ; she would 
confront the tyrant, she would ask his pardon for having 
dismissed him from her home, she would give him the joy 
of a triumph complete in every detail. 

Daylight found her thus disposed. Her mind was made 
up, and she would not flinch. The only point on which 
she was not yet decided was how to obtain an interview 
with Pascal, but she resolved to leave that to chance. 

About seven o^clock, Croix-Mesnil rejoined her. The 
marquis had fallen into a heavy torpor, and had ceased 
speaking, though his breathing was still heavy and labor- 
ed. Giving way to the baron^s entreaties, Antoinette con- 
sented to leave the invalid in his care, and went to her 
own room, where she bathed her hands and face in cold 
water, and then lay down for a short time. At nine 
o^clock, as she was finishing dressing, old Bernard knock- 
ed gently at her door, and told her that Doctor Margueron 
had arrived, and with him Monsieur Malezeau. 

Antoinette found them at her father^s bedside. By the 
doctor^s orders, all the windows had been thrown open ; 
and the marquis seemed refreshed and revived by the air 
and light with which the room was flooded. His eyes 
were open, and he showed faint symptoms of conscious- 
ness. The fever was not so high, but his left side ^as 
slightly paralyzed. The doctor, who had made a previous 
visit, declared himself much better satisfied, and explained 
to Malezeau that his patient had had an access of deli- 
rium which was now passing away. 


184 


ANTOINETTE. 


“ He must not be fatigued in any way/' he said ; and 
above all, don't let him talk. I will write my prescrip- 
tion downstairs." 

When he was on the terrace, with only Mademoiselle 
de Clairefont and the lawyer, the good doctor could not 
refrain from speaking of Kobert; for the previous even- 
ing, in the hurry of attending to the marquis, he had not 
been able to find a favorable opportunity of saying what 
a deep impression the confronting of the count with the 
body of the murdered girl had made upon him. 

“I assure you, mademoiselle, that when I saw him 
kneel down so simply beside the dead girl and pray, my 
conscience rebelled, and I said to myself: ‘Either this 
young man is the most heartless scoundrel alive, or else 
he is innocent.' " 

“ Oh, he had nothing to do with the crime," said Male- 
zeau, warmly. “ He is frankness itself, and he told the 
truth. A (Dlairefont does not lie, doctor." 

“ He has some terrible and bitter enemies," resumed 
Margueron. “My evidence has been twisted and dis- 
torted, and reported to La Heuville as if it were dead 
against the count. But, at the trial, I shall say what I 
think, and if the jury has not been tampered with — " 

“ But is such a thing possible ?" asked Antoinette, hor- 
ror-stricken at the idea. 

“ It has been known to happen," replied Malezeau. 

Mademoiselle de Clairefont allowed the doctor to take 
his leave, but kept the lawyer with her. She was deter- 
mined to begin her work: to permit Carvajan to go on 
influencing popular opinion, was perhaps to sign her 
brother's death-warrant. She laid her hand on Malezeau's 
arm, signed to him to be seated on a bench near the ter- 
race-steps, and asked him point-blank : 

“How can I arrange an interview with the son of Mon- 
sieur Carvajan ? " 

The question took Malezeau's breath away. He could 
have been prepared for any step but this ; and he asked 
himself if Antoinette, driven to desperation, had not de- 
termined to do something of which she might repent later 
on. But he saw that she was calm and collected, and he 
skilfully proceeded to question her. She told him quite 
frankly what had happened the night before, and owned 
that the desire her father had expressed seemed to her 
like a command from Heaven. As he listened, Malezeau 
felt a strange emotion getting the better of him. It might 
really be the wisest plan to appeal to Pascal's better feel- 
ings, and to gain over Carvajan through his interests. 


ANTOINETTE. 


185 


Perhaps they would have to come to some arrangement 
by which the estate would be given over to the mayor of 
La Neuville without being put up to auction, but any- 
thing would be preferable to the horrors of a criminal 
trial. In his heart the lawyer felt sure that all the evi- 
dence against Eobert had been instigated by Fleury, 
Tondeur and their confederates, and he was not mistaken. 
It only needed a word from Carvajan for the affair to as- 
sume a totally different aspect; and instead of being tried 
at the assizes, it could at once be dismissed on the plea of 
there not being sufficient evidence against the prisoner. 

Well, mademoiselle,^' said Mal6zeau, waking up from 
his reflections, ^^it is an attempt worth making, madem- 
oiselle. Young Carvajan arrived at the railway station 
this morning; so he is in La Neuville. But I don't sup- 
pose you are very anxious to find yourself face to face 
with his father, so we must go very carefully to work. If 
you will trust yourself in my hands, mademoiselle — " 

My only hope is in you." 

Well, then, I will take you to my wife, and while you 
are with her, I will go and reconnoitre, and clear the way 
for your interview." 

After an absence of twenty-four hours which had 
greatly puzzled his father, Pascal had, as Malezeau said, 
returned that very morning. Questioned as to the reason 
of his journey, he had replied laconically that he had gone 
to Havre to see a client; but as he answered, a blush rose to 
his face ; for he had not told sufficient falsehoods to be an 
adept in the telling. His journey to Havre had been in 
reality limited to a visit to Eouen, where he knew he 
should find one of his brother-students who had been re- 
cently appointed Deputy-Procureur-General, and who re- 
ceived him with the stiff, emphatic amiability which is 
typical of the legal profession. For half-an-hour his con- 
versation flowed freely as he dwelt on the tremendous 
amount of work ho was called upon to perform, and on 
the cares and responsibilities of his position— all which he 
expressed in long, wordy, rounded phrases. But when 
Pascal tried to introduce the topic of the Clairefont case, 
the substitut became at once cold and suspicious, hardly 
uttering more than one or two syllables at a time. 

Serious case — very serious case. Evidence difficult 

to obtain. Accused cunning and very close," 

And as his visitor continued to press him with 
questions : 

^^But, by the ’way, you come from La Heuville. You 
ought to know more about it than I do." And instead of 


186 


ANTOINETTE. 


giving information, he began to question. 

After an hour's visit, Pascal vs^ent avray feeling very 
anxious, and convinced that Eobert was to have no 
leniency shown him; and not wishing to return home un- 
til the following day for fear of arousing his father's sus- 
picions, he went back to his hotel, where he pa:^sed a 
wretched evening. 

JSTow, shut in the banker's office, he was trying to kill 
time by working, but his rebellious thoughts refused to 
stay in the small, dark room and bore him far away from 
the notes and memoranda spread out before him. Unable 
to remain still, he went to the window and looked out. 

Just then there came an impatient knock at the door, 
a sound of voices in the hall ; and then Maitre Malezeau 
entered the office looking as though something very ex- 
traordinary were about to happen. Never before had 
his eyes blinked so furiously behind his gold-rimmed 
spectacles. 

‘^‘Has your father really driven off by the road to 
Lisors?" he asked mysteriously. ^^You are quite alone? 
All right then — I have a lady with me who would like to 
speak to you." 

At these words, all the blood in Pascal's body seemed 
to rush to his heart ; his legs shook under him ; and the 
room seemed to be turning round and round. 

Who is it?" he asked in dry, unnatural tones, feeling 
sure that the answer would be — Mademoiselle de Glaire- 
font." 

But Mal6zeau did not waste time by stopping to reply. 
He simply opened the door, and, standing aside to leave 
a clear path, said : 

Come in, mademoiselle." 

There on the ‘threshold of his father's gloomy office, 
Pascal found himself face to face with Antoinette. She 
was dressed all in black, and her face was covered by a 
veil ; but this she abruptly removed, and he saw that she 
looked pale and ill, and that her eyes were reddened with 
sleeplessness and tears. He was far more agitated than 
she was, and it was only mechanically that he drew for- 
ward a chair for her. She seated herself; then cast an 
imploring glance at Malezeau, which the attorney an- 
swered by bowing and leaving the room. 

They were alone together, and this moment, for which, 
but the day before, Pascal would have given the rest of 
his life, was now a source of intolerable embarrassment 
to him. His face was burning, and he had a sensation as 
of red-hot needles at the root of each hair on his head. 


ANTOINETTE. 


187 


I keep silent, I shall seem absurd. If I speak, I 
run the risk of saying something idiotic which will make 
her hate me,’^ he thought. Then he raised his eyes to 
Antoinette, and in them she read so much entreaty that 
she understood it was for her to command, and for him 
to submit. She smiled sadly, and, in a voice which thrilled 
Pascal to his very soul, commenced : 

“ I come to you, sir, as a suppliant. And how should I 
dare take such a step, if I had not the memory of our first 
meeting to encourage me ? Fate, you see, knew what she 
was doing, when she threw you in my path.^^ 

She was brave enough to glance at him coquettishly. 
She was prepared to make every effort to gain the vic- 
tory. And he, feeling the charm of her manner, still lis- 
tened when she had ceased to speak. Then it was she who 
reminded him of the lane where they had metfor the first 
time. All that had followed had no existence — she had 
voluntarily blotted it out. All that remained for him and 
for her was the short walk on a bright summer morning 
amidst the light, the verdure and the fiowers. If he had 
uttered the words which rose to his lips, he would have 
said to her : I love you.^^ But he would not speak 

them. She was Unhappy ; she had come to him frankly 
and confidingly ; she was there alone with him, protected 
but by his honor. 

“ I will never tell her how I worship her,” he thought ; 
but I will prove it to her by devoting my life to her.” 
He approached her, and with the respect he might have 
testified to a saint, hesaid,in the deep, musical tones which 
went straight to the heart of even Carvajan himself : 

I know what has brought you here, mademoiselle, and 
I fancy I must have had a presentiment that I should 
see you to-day ; for yesterday I went to Eouen to make 
inquiries about your brother.” 

She uttered a little cry of pleased surprise, and a pink 
flush spread over her cheeks as she found herself so ex- 
actly and so quickly understood. 

He was in good health and quite calm, so I was as- 
sured,” went on P.ascal. ^‘As for the case itself, the 
prosecution, so far, has been very reserved.” 

Perhaps nothing has been yet decided,” she answered, 
clasping her hands together. ^‘Perhaps there is yet 
time — Ah, sir, if you would only unite your efforts to 
ours! I feel that I may count on you, that your reason 
is just, your heart generous. I implore you, speak to 
Monsieur Carvajan on our behalf!” 

Pascal turned pale at this earnest prayer which likened 


1^8 


ANTOINETTE. 


his father to a tormentor whose cruelty his victims longed 
to disarm. Antoinette was afraid she had offended him. 

“ Forgive me, if I have displeased you,^' she said plead- 
ingly, but the request I have to make is so difficult to 
put into words. I do not want to utter one syllable 
which you might think a disparagement of your father, 
and yet I must make you understand that we are asking 
mercy. We are forced to throw ourselves on his kind- 
ness, and on yours. Any conditions that may be imposed 
will seem easy to us if we can obtain a little indulgence 
for poor Eohert — condition, sir, you hear? Audit 
is because we thought that your intercession would have 
more weight than that of anyone else that I have ad- 
dressed myself to you.” 

Then it was only of her brother that she had thought. 
In her secret soul, no inclination had urged her to seek 
out Pascal. Her heart was closed to all which was not 
Kobert ; and for love of him alone had she conquered her 
pride and stooped to entreat. Pascal resolutely put 
from him all vain hopes of love; he forced his thoughts 
into order; he calmed the tumult of his blood. 

“If you knew how sorely we are being tried!” con- 
tinued Antoinette. “ After an interview with Monsieur 
Carvajan — oh! I am not blaming him for it — my 
father was taken ill, and his condition is causing us the 
greatest anxiety. All came upon me at 6nce, you see ; 
and I do not know which way to turn not to see some 
fresh disaster threatening me. I am alone at Clairefont. 
And had it not been for a faithful friend who hurried to 
my aid — ” 

A suspicion flashed through PascaFs mind. His face 
changed, his hands involuntarily clinched. 

“ Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil,” he muttered, under his 
breath. 

“ Yes, Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil. Poor fellow! Cares 
and sorrows will be his only reward for the affection he 
has shown us.” 

It was said so gently, so tenderly, and yet so indiffer- 
ently, that Pascal became himself again. 

“ Pray believe that I am ready to attempt anything to 
satisfy your demands, mademoiselle,” he assured her. 
“But I can only promise for myself,, and it is for my father 
you want me to answer.” 

Antoinette fancied that the one she wished to conquer 
was escaping her. 

“Do you not possess unlimited influence over him? ” 
she said eagerly. “ Have I not seen the place you occupy 


ANTOINETTE, 


189 


in his heart ? Oh, I beseech you, be our friend, take up 
our cause ! We have no hope left us but in you. Eobert 
— there is nothing we care for besides Eobert. We are 
ready to give up all but him.^^ 

^‘Zour lands, your chateau, the rest of your fortune — 
that is what you mean ? ” asked Pascal bitterly. 

She made no reply. It was the second time she had 
made the offer ; for was not that what she had come to 
do? Malezeau had so plainly told her that that was 
what would have most weight with the banker. The 
Great Marl-Pit was the aim of his efforts, the dream of 
his ambition, the booty his allies kept constantly in 
sight. Mademoiselle de Clairefont felt that she was ad- 
vancing on to dangerous ground ; but surely she ought, in 
this supreme treaty of capitulation, to specify the con- 
ditions. She did not dare say anything more as she 
watched Pascal walking to and fro with clouded face. 
Suddenly he paused, passed his hand over his eyes, and 
with a sigh that sounded like a sob, seated himself by 
the window, apparently completely forgetting that he 
was not alone. Antoinette was seized with pity for his 
suffering. She went to him, and in tones that made him 
quiver : 

Have I pained you? Please, please forgive me.^^ 

He looked at her with sombre eyes. 

“Pained me?"' he said. “What! Is a Carvajan 
pained when he is offered money ? He broke off with 
a bitter laugh, while Antoinette stood silent and confused. 

“ Why should I be so sensitive 1 ” he resumed. “Hoes 
not everyone know that profit is the one rule of the 
house we are in? The arguments you are using are sen- 
sible and logical. After all, it is only a matter of. busi- 
ness. You do not know me, and you do not know wheth- 
er I have a conscience ora heart. What reason have you 
to suspect that I suffer terribly through what goes on 
around me? Who could tell you of my repugnance and 
my sorrow? Were you to have an intuition that I could 
be proud and disinterested? Ho not believe it. I am a 
Carvajan, that is to say, a man who is avaricious and 
greedy. The bargain you propose to me is a good one; 
there is no doubt but that I shall accept it. Always call 
my eagerness for gain into question. That is the most 
prominent trait in my character and the one about which 
you can never be mistaken ! 

His features- were all contracted and distorted by the 
violence of his feelings. But Mademoiselle de Clairefont 
only shook her head. 


190 


ANTOINETTE. 


And that is just what I do not believe/^ she said, very 
quietly. I am sure that you are good and kind-hearted, 
and that with you tears and prayers would help us a hun- 
dred times more than the most brilliant promises. And 
so, in exchange for what you are going to do for us, I 
shall only offer you my sincere gratitude, and from you I 
shall ask for no more binding promise than that you will 
make by laying your hand in mine — will you do so ? ” 

The little hand, which had brought down the whip 
with so cutting a swish through the air on the Couvre- 
champs road, was now held out open and inviting. To 
touch those slender, taper fingers was to make himself a 
slave. To devote himself to Antoinette was to declare him- 
self Carvajan^s opponent. But so Pascal decided to do at 
once. Had he not been ready so to do ever since his 
return to La Heuville? 

He clung to no hope of being loved some day — ho cher- 
ished no illusion as to the sentiments to which Antoinette 
was yielding. He saw that she was constrained by a 
hard necessity to do violence to her pride — almost to her 
modesty. He pitied her and tried to shorten her trial. 
He took the hand she held out, with tender respect, barely 
pressed it in his own ; then said : 

“ Let me reassure you, mademoiselle. No harm shall 
reach you, either through your affections or your fortune. 
That I promise you upon my honor.^^ 

In the shock of her joy, Antoinette could not find one 
word to say in reply, and the promise sounded so solemn 
in the silence of Carvajan's gloomy ofiice, that Pascal 
himself was awed. 

But remember, sir,^^ she said at last, ‘‘ that I do not 
ask you to do anything in our interest that could possibly 
injure your own.^' 

‘^Nothing could do me more harm,^^ he replied, than 
to associate myself, even indirectly, with a work of which 
my conscience disapproves.^^ 

Mademoiselle de Clairefont nodded her head in appro- 
bation, and a strange light gleamed in her eyes. When 
she next spoke, her voice sounded more silky, more en- 
gaging — almost like the tones of affection. 

“ All the same,^' she returned, I shall look upon your 
generous promise as one that only binds you to us to a 
limit that you alone must fix.’^ 

Then, as if she feared lest this last expression of her 
pride should wound the young man again, she added: 

But whatever else may be the result of this interview, 
be sure that it has taught me to regard you with lasting 


ANTOINETTE. 


191 


esteem and the sincerest gratitude.^" 

Again she stretched out her hand to him, and, this time, 
he did not fear to take it and press it, as if the contact of 
the soft, warm flesh attached him to Antoinette still more 
completely. 

The door opened, Maitre Malezeau came forward, and 
Mademoiselle de Clairefont had reached the other end of 
the Eue du Marche before Pascal left the doorstep and 
gave up trying to see her still. 

He turned slowly into the house again, went upstairs 
and shut himself up in his room, where he stayed until 
seven o’clock, at which hour Carvajan returned from 
Lisor’s, famished after his seven hours’ drive. The bank- 
er went straight into the dining room, shouting for dinner 
to be served, and there Pascal joined him. The mayor 
was in a very good humor, and entered into an animated 
account of the afl‘air he had been looking into that day 
and which promised to turn out very profitably. 

“ See, my boy, it’s a distillery on the banks of the 
Lieure, which forms an excellent motive power. The 
good people who started it are not rich enough to go 
through with it, and they have nearly reached the end of 
their tether — it' wants a great deal of capital to carry on 
an affair of that kind. Well, these innocents have annual 
contracts with the Northern growers to supply them with 
beet-roots, and they sell the refuse pulp to the farmers in 
the neighborhood instead of using it to feed some cows 
themselves. Why they could cover the original cost of 
the beet-root by what they could get by the milk ! But 
it wanted Carvajan to show them that. Bumontier and I 
are going to len4 them a hundred and fifty thousand 
francs on a first mortgage. Lisors is not very far off, and 
every now and then I shall run over to see how they are 
doing. There, Pve made a good dinner, but I had done 
a good day’s work before it. And you, my dear fellow, 
what have you been doing with yourself?” 

Pascal’s heart beat fast. Should he tell his father 
boldly what had happened, or should he prepare him for 
such news by carefully leading up to it? He dared not 
tell him yet, so he replied evasively : 
have stayed in all day.” 

Carvajan pricked up his ears. He noticed a strange 
ring in his son’s voice; and on looking at him attentively, 
he found he looked slightly embarrassed. 

Well, let us go and have a cigar in my office,” he said, 
rising from the table. 

They went into the large, dark room which was only 


192 


ANTOINETTE. 

lighted by a lamp placed on the banker’s desk ; and, with 
a thrill of delight, Pascal detected a faint perfume in the 
atmosphere — the subtle trace which Antoinette had left 
of her visit to the enemy’s abode. Carvajan’s sense of 
smell was as acute as that of a savage. He snuffed the 
air vigorously, and he did not utter a word, but strode 
up and down the room as he was in the habit of doing. 
The suspicions he had formed about his son seemed to 
be receiving confirmation, and he felt vaguely uneasy. 
Could Pascal be conniving with the Clairefonts ? he won- 
dered. But if so, how and by whom were they connected 
with each other? Absorbed in the study of this prob- 
lem, he was pacing up and down between the window and 
the desk, when suddenly he caught sight of a piece of 
black net on the old mahogany console-table which fin- 
ished off the pier-glass by the window. Mechanically he 
went and looked at it; then recognizing in it a woman’s 
veil, seized it with an exclamation. 

Who left this here ? ” he cried. Who has been here 
in my absence? SacridU! I thought I noticed an odor 
that ought not to be in a bachelor’s room when I came 
in ! ” He thrust the veil into Pascal’s face. You ought 
to know ail about it, you who have not been out all day,” 
he went on. This does not belong to any of the La 
Heuville ladies — thank heaven, they don’t hide their 
faces. Has—” But the supposition was so improbable 
that he dared not put it into words. He stood in sus- 
pense, twisting the piece of black gauze, which was im- 
pregnated with a delicate odor of violets, in his out- 
stretched, hands, while his mouth worked with rage. 

Pascal closed his eyes to the sight of his father, who 
looked simply horrible; and summoning all his resolution 
to his aid : 

Do not puzzle yourself about it,” he said. ^‘Made- 
moiselle de Clairefont has been here.” 

“ Ha, ha !” sneered Carvajan. “ They must be in a fix up 
on the hill there, for the haughty Antoinette to have made 
up her mind to come down here. And did you see her?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“What did she want?” 

■“ To intercede for her family with you.” 

“Intercede? Indeed! She’s become very humble all 
of a sudden !” Then, with sternness in voice and look 
he asked : “ And why did you not tell me of it as soon 

as I came in ?” 

“ Because I hoped I might, by gaining a little time, dis- 
pose you to regard the matter in a favorable light.” 


ANTOINETTE. 193 

The two men gazed at each other in silence. Then 
Carvajan burst out: 

“Oh, you hoped that, did you? Indeed! Do you 
think I am a ball to go whither I am rolled ? Am I a 
man to change my mind for the sake of a caprice, to give 
up my projects for a little whimpering and whining? 1 
suppose the beauty tried to get round you with wheedling 
phrases, and to soften you with tearful looks ? Ah, she 
knows how to ply her woman's trade, and she can be- as 
honeyed as anyone. She gave us a specimen, the even- 
ing of the fete when her stuck-up fiance refused to dance 
opposite you! You should beware of such people. As 
far as words are concerned, they promise you -heaven and 
earth, but when it comes to actions, you may go to the 
devi] ! Oh, I know them — and well too. I've seen so 
much of them. What they're best up in is the art of ly- 
ing. The girl coaxed and wheedled you enough. I've no 
doubt, while she was here ; but before she got to the end 
of the street she was laughing at you. You may take 
my word for that!" Carvajan had resumed his walk up 
and down the room. He was thinking deeply, and his 
face was very grave. Suddenly he stopped, and glancing 
at his son : 

“ But she did something else besides sigh, I suppose ? 
She probably talked a little. What did she say ? What 
jii’oposition did she make ? When people ask for peace, 
they know it can only be granted on certain conditions. 
Let us leave the sentimental side of the question, and 
consider the practical. First of al 1, what does she want ? " 

“ For you to save her brother and spare her father." 

“ In other words, that I shall prove beyond a doubt 
that young Clairefont is spotless and innocent as a dove, 
and that, holding the old one, as I do, in the hollow 
of my hand, I let him go free and unhurt. Quite 
enough, upon my word ! And what does she offer me in 
exchange ? Her everlasting gratitude, I suppose ? " 

“ Mademoiselle de Clairefont made no conditions." 

“And who then is to fix them, sacredU?” cried Carva- 
jan, his tanned face turning a sombre red. 

“Yourself, father," replied Pascal, coldly. “Are you 
not the master ? " 

Carvajan leaned his back against the mantel-piece. 

“I am the master, that's true," he said with mock 
frankness. “ But the position is somewhat embarrassing, 
and two heads are better than one. What would you do, 
if you were I ? " 

“ I have always let you see what I should do, father. 

13 


194 


ANTOINETTE. 


Ever since I have been back I have been advising and 
entreating you to be reconciled. When I returned, the 
Clairefonts' position was not nearly so serious as it is 
now; and it was solely in your own interest that I spoke 
to you. I hoped to see you relinquish a hostility calcu- 
lated to lower you in the opinion of many. I wanted 
you to occupy yourself with thoughts and projects worthy 
of the high position to which you had attained. You 
were the strongest — it was for you to display generosity. 
That was the language I used when those you considered 
your enemies were still able to offer some resistance. 
But what ought I to say to you, now that they are van- 
quished and in despair; now that they ask for mercy? 
I no longer offer you advice — it is an entreaty that I 
address to you. Be kind — do not strike those who are 
down. Turn aside your anger from these Clairefonts who 
have almost ceased to exist. Do not destroy the son, 
whose real and only crime is the name he bears, and 
leave the father to die in peace on his curtailed and im- 
poverished estate. 

The son cried Carvaj an angrily. Do you forget 
how he insulted you before the whole town? The 
father I Do you not know that only yesterday morning 
he tried to kill me ? They are down, you say ? Then 
what would they do if they were up ? You do not know 
them — they are scoundrelly rogues ! Then cooling down 
again, he thrust his hands into his pockets, adding ; In 
short, my boy, it’s all very pretty, what you are saying ; 
but they owe me nearly four hundred thousand francs.” 

‘‘ The estate is worth double.” 

“ It would be a bad lookout for me if it wasn’t ! ” 

Father,” resumed Pascal, "his voice shaking with the 
emotion he felt, do not deprive me of all hope of per- 
suading you. Do this one thing for me, and I shall be 
grateful to you so long as I live. Ask of me what you 
will in exchange — I consent to anything in advance — I 
will be your servant ; I will make your interest mine ; I 
will do all to further your ambition. My time, my tal- 
ents— - all shall be yours. But, in the name of all you 
hold mqst sacred, do not refuse me what I ask.” 

Carvaj an crossed over to his son,' and, with scathing 
irony in his tones, said : 

Why what reward have you been promised, if you 
succeed ? ” 

‘‘ Father ! ” exclaimed the younger man. 

Are you my sod, or the Clairefonts’ business manager?” 

“ Is it not always the desire of a son to see his father’s 


ANTOINETTE. 


195 


name honored and respected?'^ 

‘‘Honor! Eespect! Those words sound well from your 
lips. Come, sir, say out boldly what you mean — have 
the courage of your treachery. Do you think I have yet 
to discover the presence of an enemy in my own house ? 
You imagine you can deceive me, but you have yet some- 
thing to learn before you will do that. Fool, to be car- 
ried away by a woman's words, and to try and dupe your 
father ! Speak, plead, sigh for her, if you like — you'll 
see how she'll reward you. Ah, I wanted to know ex- 
actly how things stood, and I have found out now. You 
have been billing and cooing with the beautiful Antoin- 
ette, and she has made you her slave. Gro to her j she'll 
teach you the meaning of honor and respect I " 

“ Father ! " 

“ Dare to tell me she has not bewitched you ! Dare to 
deny that you love her I " 

Pascal, who had hitherto bent beneath his father's an- 
ger, drew himself up, and raised a face glowing with pas- 
sion : 

“ Then, yes, I do love her I And my love will be the 
curse of my life, since I find myself placed between you, 
wjiom I find implacable, and her, whom I would have 
every man hold sacred. Have pity on me ! All the 
blows you are going to deal, will fall on my heart. It 
was fate which brought it all about. I did not seek out 
Mademoiselle de Clairefont — I met her without even 
knowing who she was ; and when I was able to reflect, it 
was too late. But I will give you my word never to see 
her -again, if you will spare her. I do not know either 
her father or her brother. I am thinking of no one but her 
— only her ! You cannot hate her — she has never done 
you any harm. Father, you too have loved and suffered. 
In the name of the past, be generous to-day — do not make 
your son as unhappy as you have been yourself." 

“ You are wrong to call up the past," returned Carva- 
jan ; “ for the memory of it makes me pitiless. Give up 
your love — it is not quite so old as my hatred ! As long 
as I can remember, hatred has glowed within my heart. 
It is that which has given me the energy to attain the po- 
sition I now hold. Everything I have done in life has 
been to insure its triumph; and now, just as my goal is 
reached, you come and asj? me — merely from a caprice, 
and because you fancy yourself in love - to give up the 
reward to which I have so long and so eagerly looked 
forward. What utter absurdity ! You are nothing but a 
short-sighted, timid child. You do not even know how 


196 


ANTOINETTE. 


to guide your own steps. Let me manage your affairs at 
the same time as my own, and I will get more for you 
than you can even wish. You almost accuse me of being 
a had father — I will prove my affection. Do you want 
this girl you love ? Then I will give her to you. 
You shall see how pliable and gentle she will be. Her 
pride ! Ha, ha ! I have an infallible means of bringing 
down young ladies who think too much of themselves. 
Trust to me. Follow my advice; donH meddle; only look 
on, and your princess is yours ! 

Never cried Pascal, furiously. I should die of 
shame before her.^^ 

Ah said Carvajan. “ I think I have displayed a 
good deal of patience so far, but you are beginning to ex- 
asperate me. I will put up with your whim, but only on 
the condition that it doesnT last much longer. There is 
no power on earth that can make me say no, when I have 
made up my mind to say yes ! Now, thirty years ago, I 
swore to myself to turn the marquis out of his chateau, 
and to establish myself there in his stead. 

“And I, father, I swore to myself just now that you 
should not do so ! ” 

“Oh, indeed, you swore that, did you?” said Carva- 
jan, with horrible calmness. “ Well, then, you will learn 
to your cost that you should never take a rash oath. 
Within a fortnight, do you hear, the Clairefont estate will 
be put up at auction, and the marquis will be out on the 
highway a beggar.” 

“No, father, he will not; for to-morrow you will be 
paid.” 

“ You donT say so,” sneered the banker. “And with 
whose money?” 

“ With mine ! ” 

If the house had fallen about his ears, it would not have 
produced so startling an effect upon the banker. 

“ Have you thought well over what you have just said ? ” 
he stammered. 

“ Yes, father, as have you of what you intend to do.” 

“You will thwart my schemes ? ” 

“ I will hesitate at nothing to prevent a base robbery!” 

“ Whence have you drawn the audacity to speak to me 
in such a way ? ” 

“ From the horror with which your deeds inspire me.” 

At these words, Carvajan strode forward, threatening 
and terrible. He seemed to grow taller, and his face was 
convulsed with a savage fury. As he stood, his fingers, 
hooked like talons, his face, black and scowling, his yel- 


ANTOINETTE. ' 197 

low eyes gleaming like gold, he might have been taken 
for the Evil Spirit himself. 

Ah, is that so T' he cried. And you threaten and 
insult me! Well, then, those whom you wish to defend, 
I will pitilessly pursue. So they thought they were do- 
ing a fine thing by drawing you over to their side ? They 
hoped that I should pause to avoid fighting you ? They'll 
see what I am capable of when I am braved! What a 
noble protector they have got hold of, to be sure ! You 
are very bold to dare to stand up against your father ; 
but I've mastered stronger men than you, my boy, before 
now, and you'll feel the weight of Carvajan's fist before 
you've done ! Idiot, to believe all that these Clairefonts 
have promised you ! Can't you see that they are hypocrites ; 
that they are only making a cat’s-paw of you; that this 
girl is but a bait ? No, you take it all in ! And she doea 
not stint her favors — ask her officer if she does. But she 
can only disdain you — you, a man of no birth, your father's 
son, a fellow who hasn’t a de before his name. When 
you've pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for them, 
they’ll turn you off like a lackey? Why won’t you see 
things in the right light? Come, Pascal, my boy, I can 
have no object in deceiving you — I am frank and sincere. 
You are running your neck into a noose. You will have 
failed in your duties as a son; you will have thrown aside 
your father; and in the end you will find yourself left in 
the lurch. Are you listening to me — eh? Why don't 
you answer me ? You stand therewith your eyes fixed — 
do you hear what I say ? Come, say something — ^you 
haven’t lost your tongue. Promise me to reflect — don't 
go giving away thousands and thousands of francs like 
that. Sacridie! Money’s difficult enough to make, and 
it wouldn't take them long to squander yours. Pascal — 
Pascal — ” 

He went to the young man, put his arms round him, 
pressed him to his breast, caressed him, speaking affec- 
tionately to him, varying his intonations, eager to gain 
him over. But he found him cold and deaf and dumb, 
encased in an impenetrable armor of determination. 
Then, foaming with rage, Carvajan cried : 

“ Out of here, you vagabond ! I turn you out of my 
house ! A scoundrel who sells his father — who murders 
his parents ! Yes, you are killing me ! If I don’t see 
these Clairefonts in the gutter, I shall die — I have lived 
but for the hour when they would lie conquered and 
crushed, beneath my heel ! And you deprive me of 
this happiness for which I have waited so long! 6%! 


198 


ANTOINETTE. 


Go, I say, or I shall do you some injury !” 

“ Father ! entreated Pascal. 

I forbid you to call me father ! How do I know that 
I am your father to begin with ? I doubt it when I see 
your behavior. 

The young man stood dumb with horror at this fury 
which recoiled before no threat, no blasphemy. Then, 
with a gesture of despair, he turned towards the door. 
His father reached it as soon as he did, and ready to 
make one last etfort: 

“ Pascal,'" he ^jaid ; and his eyes stared wildly though 
his brain was perfectly clear, “ at least let us meet each 
other half-way. Do not pay, and I will leave them at 
peace."" 

‘^Ho, father, I have no longer any confidence in you. 
You would deceive me."" 

Carvajan"s gray hair stood upright on his head. He 
would have struck his son — his arm fell nerveless to his 
side. He tried to shout, to insult him ; but he could only 
stammer : 

‘‘^If your mother were here, she would curse j^ou!"" 

‘^Ho, father, I am sure she would not,"" answered the 
young man, proudly raising his head. 

And, leaving the old man, mad with helpless rage, he 
went out of the room. 

CHAPTEE X. 

The next day the inhabitants of La Keuville learned, 
with almost equal surprise and satisfaction, that the quar- 
rel between Clairefont and Carvajan had taken a fresh 
turn, thanks to the rupture between the mayor and his 
son. Fleury, Tondeur and Dumontier had been seen 
hastening, early that morning, to the Eue du Marche; and 
after a long time spent in the banker"s house, they had 
come out excitedly, talking and gesticulating, while Pas- 
cal had temporarily installed himself at the house of 
Maitre Malezeau, who boldly burned his ships, and de- 
clared himself on the side of the Clairefont family.. 

The Dumontiers had told the Leglorieux that Pascal, 
infatuated with Antoinette de Clairefont, had dared to 
set up his will against his fathePs ; and this confidence, 
embellished by the Leglorieux with some skilful adorn- 
ments of their own, was being turned into a statement that 
was simply slanderous. The current report was, that 
Pascal had been surprised with the young lady from the 


ANTOINETTE. 


199 


chateau, and had been at once turned out of the house by 
his angry and indignant father. And, it was added, it had 
been necessary to almost tear Carvajan from the hands of 
his son, who was trying to strangle him. 

Anoth'er account, quite as inexact, but in PascaFs favor, 
had been circulated by the partisans of the chateau. Ah, 
they said, the mayor was in a pretty fix, and he would 
probably be turned out of ofiice; for, through others, he 
had lent money at the rate of fifty per cent, to that poor 
innocent old marquis. And besides that, he knew the 
true murderer of Rose Chassevent, and had sent him out 
of the country to keep him out of the hands of the law 
and to ruin more surely the unfortunate Robert, who was 
“ as innocent as a new-born babe, my friends."' Pascal had 
discovered all ; and in his indignation, he had tried to 
make his father come to terms with the marquis and de- 
nounce the man who was really guilty. But Carvajan 
had refused ; and then his son had left him, saying that 
he would defend Robert de Clairefont, at his trial, himself, 
and also find means to prevent the sale of the estate. 

Never had human heart been gnawed by more awful 
anger. Since his son’s departure, the tyrant of La Neu- 
ville had neither eaten nor slept. He passed day and night 
furiously pacing up and down his office^ finding a vent 
for the violence with which he was overflowing in this 
ceaseless movement. Mal^zeau had conveyed the intelli- 
gence to him that his account was settled, and had placed 
to his credit the capital, with the interest and sums in- 
curred in various law expenses, which the Marquis de 
Clairefont had owed him. 

And so it was finished ; and the patient work of thirty 
3^ears was annihilated in a moment. The clerk who 
brought the attorney’s letter had fled, terrified at the ex- 
plosion of one of those vulgar fits of passion in which 
coarse words fell from the lips of Gatelier’s ex-shopman 
like filth overflowing a gutter. The servant, hearing a 
terrible noise in her master’s office, was afraid lest he 
should have a fit of apoplexy, and had ventured slightly to 
open the door. She saw Carvajan haggard and foaming, 
striking at the furniture with clenched fists while he swore 
the most horrible oaths. He caught sight of the maid, and 
rushed upon her, yelling : 

Ho you dare to spy upon me ? Go, you idiot, or I 
shall kill you ! ” 

Trembling like a leaf, the girl had taken refuge in the 
kitchen, and, that very evening, related the incident to 
the gossips in the market-place. 


200 


ANTOINETTE. 


Holy Virgin ! what a man ! He was half mad ! The 
way he ground his teeth ! I got away just as fast as I 
could. There, I wouldnH stand in his enemies' shoes for 
anything." 

^ But in spite of these prognostics, the occupants of 
Clairefont were comparatively tranquil. There was an 
improvement in the state of the marquis; and, strong in 
the assurances she had received from Pascal, hope had 
again sprung up in Antoinette's breast. She had frankly 
told Croix'Mesnil what she had done, and her former 
fianci was much troubled by this unlooked-for interfer- 
ence trom Carvaj all's son. By an intuition peculiar to 
lovers, he suspected a mystery and guessed a danger. 
What sovereign influence, save the young girl's beauty, 
could have made an ally of this enemy of yesterday ? 
Therefore the joy the baron ought to have felt was poi- 
soned by a secret bitterness ; but he was brave enough to 
conceal it ; and in his generous heart, the desire of seeing 
his friends triumph almost stifled the jealousy with which 
he already regarded Pascal. 

At last — on the day following the rupture between 
Carvaj an and his son — Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice, 
urged homewards by the anxiety the news of her brother- 
in-law's illness caused her, returned from Rouen, worn 
and thin with care, but with a redder face than ever. 
Mal6zeau brought the old maid from the station in his 
pony-chaise, so that they had plenty of time to talk going 
up the hill to Clairefont; and when Aunt Isabelle saw the 
printed bills Papillon had stuck on the stone pillars of 
the principal entrance, she jumped down, and, tearing ofi* 
the degrading placards, ran excitedly into the chateau 
clutching them in her hands. 

‘‘ Here's something to make my curl-papers of!" she 
cried, when she reached the drawing-room, waving the 
papers triumphantly over her head. 

They had to soothe and quiet her. The excitement of 
the journey, the pleasure of finding herself once more at 
Clairefont, the news given her by Malezeau, had made 
her beside herself. Then, when it was pointed out to her 
that, though improved, the situation was by no means 
satisfactory, she fell from the height of joy to the deepest 
despair. She spoke of Robert, whom she had not been 
able to see, gave a vivid description of the horrible prison 
in which he was incarcerated, and wound up by bursting 
into tears. The lawyer had to assure her that she would 
shortly have certain news of her hephew through Pascal. 
As soon as he was formally committed for trial, the de- 


ANTOINETTE. 


201 


fender could communicate with his client, and Madem- 
oiselle de Saint-Maurice would herself be admitted to seo 
him. It seemed a long time to wait; but there was tho 
hope of obtaining a good result in the end ; for the name 
of Carvajan alone was worth ten times more to Eobert 
than the every-day skill of a Paris barrister. 

PascaFs talents had already been proved. People still 
remembered his success when he was only a beginner; 
and now improved by study, with the experience of years, 
heated by the zeal with which he undertook to sustain tho 
counPs cause, he would be a formidable — -one hardly 
dared say a victorious— opponent for the public minister. 

1 always thought that this Pascal was an honest lad,^^ 
cried Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice’ in her loud voice. 
“ Ah ! if he will only give me back my poor Eobert, he 
can ask what he likes in return. Yes, whatever it may 
be, I will give it to him.^^ 

A faint smile passed over Monsieur de Croix-MesniFs 
face. 

Don^t tell us that -too often, mademoiselle. Wha 
knows to what his ambition might aspire 

It could not aspire too high after such a service,^^ re- 
plied Aunt Isabelle, warmly. The honor and the liberty 
of a Clairefont are worth all we possess. Are they not, 
Antoinette 

Yes, aunV' replied the young girl, coldly. 

She rose to put an end to the conversation, and taking 
Mal6zeau on to the terrace, asked him many questions as 
to the happy means by which he had managed to stop 
Carvajan's persecution. 

The lawyer asserted that he had found a man ready to 
lend the money under very advantageous conditions. In- 
dustrial and commercial undertakings being speculative, 
capitalists sought safe investments. By entirely paying 
off the old debt, they had been enabled to give the nevr 
creditor a mortgage on the property as security; and as 
long as they could pay an interest of five per cent, they 
would henceforth be left in' peace. As soon as the trial 
was over, the Great Marl-Pit could be set going again, 
with an engineer who understood his work as a manager. 
And, if the marquis would listen to reason, in the course 
of a few years he would be able to pay off his debt ; but 
he absolutely must give up being a man of genius, and 
content himself with being merely the head of his family. 
Antoinette listened to Maiitre Mal6zeau with much emo- 
tion; and the tears stood in her eyes as she pressed his 
hand. They walked for a moment in silence; then she 


202 


ANTOINETTE. 


said : 

I do not know how to express my gratitude. All the 
good fortune that has come to us, we owe to you. Your 
faithful friendship first dared to stand up against our per- 
secutor, and, thanks to it, we have obtained Monsieur 
Pascahs providential assistance. It is your friendship 
also which is putting an end to the financial embarrass- 
ments which added so cruelly to the horrors of our posi- 
tion. Every day of my life I shall pray for you.'’^ 

Malezeau^s eyes twinkled and blinked behind his spec- 
tacles, the glasses of which became dim and blurred, like 
window-panes in a rain. 

^‘Mademoiselle — you overwhelm me. Mademoiselle, 
you are thanking me too much for the little I have done, 
mademoiselle. It is to another all the praise should bo 
given, mademoiselle.'^ 

Then fearing to have said too much, he cast a terrified 
glance at his companion, and said no more. 

“ As for my father," resumed Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font, “ I am sorry to say I am sure he will never have the 
health nor the desire to take up his former occupations 
again. It seems as though the spring of his mind has 
been broken by these violent shocks. He is regaining 
his strength; he talks; he listens; he remembers; but 
he has neither energy nor will. He is a gentle, smiling 
child, as you will find; but Dr. Margueron assures us that 
he may live a long while thus." 

They continued their walk, Antoinette absently tracing 
lines with the end of her sunshade on the path. She 
longed to speak of Pascal to Malezeau, and to hear a 
clearer account of what had passed at the Rue du Marche 
after her interview with the young man. She was un- 
easy, agitated; and for the fii‘st time in her life her con- 
science troubled her. Was it not she who had lighted 
the torch of war between the father and son? Was it 
not by speculating on Pascahs generous sentiments that 
she had constrained him to break with Carvajan ? True, 
there was an inward voice which said: “What does it 
matter to you ? Poor lamb, leave these two wolves to 
devour each other. They are of the same race, the same 
blood — is not this combat between your enemies the just 
revenge of all you have had to suffer ?" 

But Antoinette knew well that Pascal was not an 
enemy. He was her slave; he belonged to her unreserv- 
edly ; and it was to obey her, to please her, for her sake 
only, that he had deserted his father’s factipn, and was 
preparing to fight against it. She was therefore respon- 


ANTOINETTE. 


203 


sible for what had happened, and all the harm which 
might come to Pascal, all the injury he might have to 
suffer, would come to him through her. And from that 
very fact, there was a tacit bond between her and the 
young man, and the thought hurt her pride. 

Papa has already asked to see Monsieur Pascal,^' she 
said ; when will he come 

I cannot tell you, mademoiselle. The lad has a 
strange nature, mademoiselle ; he is very retiring — Mad- 
ame Malezeau has not yet succeeded in persuading him to 
take his meals with us as long as he remains at our house. 
He is afraid of giving any trouble, and he likes to be 
alone. Unless I am very much mistaken, you will not 
see him until there is urgent need for him to present 
himself at the chateau.^' 

Antoinette breathed a sigh of relief. She had feared 
he would encroach ; and she found on the contrary that 
she would probably have to go in search of her defender. 
His reserve pleased her, and she felt more free. 

Shut up in the rooms Malezeau had placed at his dis- 
posal, Pascal had passed the last two days in a state of 
utter dejection. He hated life and all its infamy, and, 
giving way to his gloomy misanthropy, he left his shut- 
ters closed, and spent his time smoking, stretched on a 
couch in the semi-obscurity. His niind was filled with 
bitter thoughts. Surely he had been marked at his birth 
with a fatal sign which doomed him to misfortune. His 
whole past was full of sorrow, his present was showering 
cruel trials upon him, and his future held no hope. What 
was he doing in the world ? Execra,ted and cursed by 
his father, tolerated by the woman he loved as a mercen- 
ar}^, to be treated with contempt when the victory was 
won, would it npt be better to vanish ? 

What was the anguish of the last hour compared to the 
torture he was enduring ? After the short transit from 
life to death would come calm, sweet repose — sleep with 
one delicious dream in which would shine Antoinette's 
maidenly face. There he would see only affectionate 
smiles upon her lips; for all hatred would have died away, 
and she would be able to know his heart. She would 
see how tenderly he had adored her; and, appeased at last, 
she would accept him as her eternal betrothed. 

He summoned up his Courage, shook off his inaction, 
and quietly commenced to make inquiries, concerning the 
facts which were going to place the Count de Clairefont 
in the dock. At the very beginning, he stumbled upon a 
similar expedition which was being conducted by his 


204 


ANTOINETTE. 


father's emissaries in the endeavor to gather proofs of 
guilt, where he, Pascal, was searching for signs of inno- 
cence. The forces of attack and of defence were already 
taking their precautions, tracing the lines of their block- 
ade, and deciding where to lay their mines. These pre- 
sages of warfare restored Pascal entirely to himself. He 
drooped and pined in inactivity — face to face with diffi- 
culty and danger, all his strength returned to him. After 
having to battle and counterfoil the craft of South Amer- 
cans, he was surely capable of overcoming these cunning 
natives of Herman dy. 

He was soon convinced that the prosecution had not 
confined itself to collecting the evidence which could so 
easily be raised against Robert,, but had conscientiously 
followed other and various clues. Several persons" had 
been suspected and examined. A strolling tinker, whose 
presence had been noticed at Couvrechamps the night of 
the 25th, had got off, thanks to an indisputable alihL 
Eoussot, who had passed part of the evening with Rose, 
had been questioned ; but no information could be drawn 
from the shepherd. He had presented himself, looking 
thin and worn, and with his face distorted in a horrible 
way, which gave an expression at once laughing and 
stupid to his features. It was only by means of threats 
that he could be made to speak at all ; and then he had 
uttered inarticulate yells, which sounded more like a wild 
beast than a human being. The farmer from La Saucelle, 
who happened to be present at the examination, inter- 
ceded on behalf of the idiot, giving him the best of 
characters. 

With the exception of not speaking or hearing very 
well, which is not always a thing to be regretted," he 
said, with the sly mischief of a peasant, he is a good 
servant. He understands all about sheep, and he never 
goes to the wine-shop. He was very fond of Rose, and 
so he had need be ; for she half brought him up ; she was 
always kind to him; and he used to follow her like a dog. 
Rather than do her any harm, he would have defended 
her to the death — that he would ! Besides, he came home 
about two o'clock that night, or it may have been a 
quarter past. My wife heard him open the door of the 
sheep-fold, and she said to me ; ^ Hark ! There's Roussot 
coming in.'" 

At this, Roussot began to tremble, his face turned livid, 
he gave a plaintive howl, like that of a dog baying at the 
moon ; and throwing his arms above his head, he fell into 
terrible convulsions. 


ANTOINETTE. 


205 


There, you see,^^ said the farmer. “ It would kill him 
if he Avere worried much — he isn't quite right in his head. 
But he'd never hurt a fly, you may take my word 
for it." 

How obtain a deposition from a being not in his right 
mind, and even if it were obtained, how much dependence 
was there to he placed on it? And so the shepherd was 
left in peace. 

As he walked by the G-reat Marl-Pit to learn the exact 
nature of the surrounding land, Pascal met Eoussot, and 
was struck by the change in his appearance. The shep- 
herd's eyes were dull and lustreless, his mouth contorted. 
He who used to be so alert and quick to resent a stranger's 
presence now remained seated or lying oh the heath, no 
longer greeting pass6rs-by with his growls and gambols. 
Pascal even went up to him, and he made no movement 
— the black dog vainly barked to warn his master — the 
latter did not stir. He seemed to be dreaming wide 
awake, his eyes were fixed as if on some vision, and the 
tears ran down his cheeks. Pascal uttered the name of 
Eose. The idiot quivered, but was not aroused from his 
strange ecstasy. What a difference between this dejected 
torpor and the lively ardor which had animated him the 
first time Pascal saw him ! 

It was the day following his — Pascal's— return to La 
Neuville, on that exquisite summer morning when he had 
first stood in the presence of the marquis' daughter. 
Eoussot a-nd Eose were laughing then as they played to- 
gether amongst the reeds on the edge of the pond, and 
the girl was almost as strong as the shepherd. 

How free and careless was Pascal then, as he followed 
his beautiful companion along the Couvrechamps road ! 
The air was filled with sweet scents, the bright green of 
the trees almost blinded his eyes, the earth rebounded 
elastically beneath his tread. It was one of those moments 
when the body is surrounded by a purer atmosphere, 
when the mind feels more active and more powerful, 
when the' whole being seems to dilate and expand like a 
plant under the warm kisses of the sun. Another in- 
stant, and what a change ! It had only needed for An- 
toinette to utter her name and for him to reply with his, 
and the sky had seemed to grow dark, the bright land- 
scape gray and dull, and the earth had shuddered as un- 
der an icy wind. The young man had felt his heart grow 
heavy in his breast. It seemed as though this picture, 
first so siinny, then so gloomy, was to represent his own 
history, commenced with joy only to be concluded in 


206 


ANTOINETTE. 


sorrow. 

He left Eoussot, and went down the hill to Pourtois' 
inn as he had done the day he had met Antoinette, and 
pushed open the tavern door. As before, the room was 
in cool darkness; and it was with difficulty that the young 
man distinguished its occupants. Fleury and Tondeur 
were no longer there playing dominoes; but Chassevent 
was seated at the table with a look of besotted stupidity 
on his face, drinking brandy, while dried-up little Madame 
Pourtois was silently knitting behind her counter. The 
vagabond did not stir, but the inn-keeper^s wife turned 
pale, and hurried forward to meet Pascal. 

Ah, Monsieur Carvajan, is it really you? What may 
I serve you ?’" 

Nothing. Is not your husband in V 

You wished to speak to him?^^ asked the woman, sus- 
piciously. ‘‘Poor fellow, he has been very ill the last 
few days. Monsieur Margueron says he has had ‘a shock 
to the system.^ He is in bed and not allowed to speak 
or to see anyone — it is since the accident, you know. A 
man who lives the quietest life, and suddenly to be obliged 
to carry home a corpse ! It was a dreadful shock to 
him.'^ 

Chassevent, who had been leaning forward over his 
glass, now seemed to revive. 

“Is it true. Monsieur Carvajan,^^ he asked, gloomily, 
“that you are going to defend the murderer 1” 

“It is quite true,^^ answered Pascal. 

“ What grudge do you bear to poor folk to try and 
make them more miserable than they are? Now my 
sweet little girl is dead, how am I to make euough to live 
on at my age? She fed me, she mended my clothes, she 
nursed me if I was ill — ah, she was indeed a dear, pretty, 
good child. When I lost her, I lost all. And you want 
to prevent me getting some money and that scaramouch 
having his head cut off as well ? Is it worthy of a man 
like you who are so clever?” 

Pascal tried to exasperate the old scoundrel a little, 
hoping to make him commit some imprudence. 

“If Monsieur de Clairefont is guilty of the crime, he 
will be condemned,” he said, sternly. “ But I am sure he 
is innocent, and no one knows it better than you do, un- 
less it is Pourtois, your companion.” 

“Innocent!” shouted Chassevent. “ Only let Pourtois 
say so ! Curse him, only let him say that he didn't see 
the same as I did, and may the devil seize me if I 
don't—” 


ANTOINETTE. 


20T 


Here Madame Pourtois skilfully interposed. 

^‘Have you come here to torment honest people who 
have their living to get, sir?'" she said, tartly, to Pascal. 
“ Our house is certainly open to anyone who likes to 
come in; but iPs for them to get food and drin'k in, not to 
bandy malicious words. The way you have left your 
father’s house is little enough to your credit, without 
coming here to talk nonsense to ns.” 

The inn-keeper’s wife was growing very excited; her face 
wore an expression of abominable wickedness; her little 
snake-like eyes gleamed viciously; and her thin lips grim- 
aced as if she longed to bite. She was going to continue 
her speech^ when a door at the other end of the room 
opened, and Flenry appeared. 

^‘Ah, Monsieur Carvajan ! ” he cried. I was just com- 
ing to see you.” 

It seems that your husband’s door is not closed to 
everyone,” said Pascal, meaningly, to Madame Pourtois, 
who resumed her seat behind the counter in silence. 

“Come,” said the .magistrate’s clerk. And without 
taking any further notice of Madame Pourtois or the old 
poacher, he drew Pascal outside. 

They happened to stand on the very spot where Fleury 
had pointed to the terrace of Clairefont, and said, trium- 
phantly : “ It is all over with them now ! ” He remem- 

bered the circumstance, and bending down his cloudy 
face, began : 

“Is a reconciliation impossible? Are we to be ene- 
mies? Oh, if you but knew the harm you are doing 
your father! He has aged ten years. You would be 
startled at the ravages grief has made in his appearance. 
And to think that you are the cause — ” 

“I?” exclaimed Pascal, exasperated by such hypocrisy. 
“I? You dare to accuse me?” 

He drew a long breath as though to ease his palpitating 
heart; then, with a sudden outburst: 

“ Do you suppose that I have forgotten your detestable 
confidences ? How foul a mind did you think I had to 
dare to make them to me ? Yes, with almost incredible 
cynicism you unveiled your projects ; you explained your 
combinations; you showed me every nook and crevice of 
your snares; and because I said nothing, you thought that 
I approved your plans, and perhaps that I should even 
help to carry them out ! Was it not indeed an inviting 
scheme ? This admirable enterprise was directed against 
the fortune of a poor old man incapable of defending him- 
self — the sole aim was to despoil and strip him. And all 


208 


ANTOINETTE. 


the machinery of loans in the names of men who have no 
existence, of bills renewed and discounted, of compound 
interest, was set in motion ; and I looked on at these 
abominations, already pondering how I could prevent you 
achieving your end. I said nothing ; for I was choking 
with disgust, and I was caught between the horror with 
which your deeds inspired me and the shame of having 
to repudiate them. What I suffered, you are, not able to 
understand. I wept the bitterest tears that have ever 
flowed from the eyes of man. I wished to go away, to 
disappear, to place a great distance between me and this 
iniquity ; and I was going, but by your infamy you have 
forced me to remain. The fortune was not enough for 
you —you must have also the honor of this unfortunate 
family ! You have caught the son in one of your pitfalls, 
you have accused him, given him up, crushed him to the 
earth. And I— the spectator of your manoeuvres — I have 
been brought to see that if I went away and forsook him, 
I should become your accomplice. My conscience revolt- 
ed at the idea j and sickened by such ignominy, I have 
been urged to enter into combat with him whose name I 
bear, as the only way of putting a stop to it. Yes, it is 
Oarvajan versus Carvajan, as they say at the Palais I” 

Fleury had made no attempt to stem the tide of fiery 
words ; but when Pascal paused, he said with a sneer; 

‘‘ I have been a fool — I ought to have held my tongue. 
But I don^t mind betting that if- Mademoiselle Antoinette 
were less handsome, you would be less indignant."' 

Pascal turned pale. He caught the other by the arm, 
and shook him roughly. 

forbid you to utter Mademoiselle de Clairefont's 
V name before me," he cried. The first use I shall make 
of the independence I have regained will be to chastise 
rogues like you, if they permit themselves to indulge in 
familiarities I think loathsome ! You had better remem- 
ber that, and also warn your comrades." 

There, there, don't get so angry," said Fleury, in 
honeyed tones. I am a peaceful man — I did not mean 
to vex you — my intention is always to conciliate. Come, 
will you leave your father to his grief without taking a 
step towards him ? Granted that he may have been hasty; 
but didn’t you exasperate him? Cannot things be ar- 
ranged ? " 

Pascal tried to be calm; he wanted to know what cow- 
ardly meanness they dared to hope from him. 

‘‘ What do you mean by that ?" 

Fleury wildly scratched his unkempt head. 


ANTOINETTE. 


20 ^ 


You are the master of the situation/' he replied, and 
therefore you should be moderate. Give up the Great 
Marl-Pit to us." 

“ Restore Robert de Clairefont to liberty." 

^'You know very well that it is impossible to do so 
now." 

“Yes, it is always easier to do harm than to make rep- 
aration for it." 

“ Will you not consent to see Monsieur Carvaian affain ?" 

“ What is the use ? " 

“ You might come to some arrangement." 

“ J^ever, on the terms that you propose." 

“ Will you present the sad spectacle of a son fighting 
against his father ? " 

“ By preventing him from committing acts that I dis- 
approve, I am defending the interests of his honor against 
himself." 

Is that all you will say ? " 

“ My father has heard all I had to say to him. Now 
there is nothing left for mo but to act." 

“ You had better take care." 

“ Oh, I know what I have to expect from your disap- 
pointed cupidity. You will not recoil before anything — 
you will not hesitate to slander and to bribe. But for all 
that the truth will come to light, and I shall neglect no 
means by which it may be brought to light." 

With a gesture of anger. Floury turned and faced 
Pascal. 

“ Is it to be peace or war ? For the last time I hold 
out my hand to you." 

Pascal stared at the clerk with withering contempt, and 
with a shrug of the shoulders replied : 

“ Why do you ? I have nothing to put in it." 

And without another word, without once turning to 
look back, he went on his way. 

However, Fleury's threats were not empty ones. Every 
attempt was made to corrupt the witnesses with the most 
shameless audacity. The Tuboeufs, who lived at Couvre- 
champs, received several visits from Tondeur, who inquired 
about their needs and questioned them closely as to their 
meeting with Robert and Rose as they were returning 
from the fair. It was to the interest of Tubceuf, who was 
a working mason, to bo on good terms with Tondeur, and 
after the timber-merchant's visit he displayed a good deal 
of animation and loquacity. Doctor Margueron was 
sounded by Dumontier and Leglorieux. He had a grown- 
up daughter and no fortune, and the two went as far as 


210 


ANTOINETTE. 


to hold ouit hopes of a brilliant marriage. They did not 
ask him anything, they lelt it all to his acuteness ; but it 
was very clear that the condemnation of Monsieur de 
Clairefont would be decidedly to his advantage. The doc- 
tor had listened attentively and said little ; and his previ- 
ous conviction of Eobert’s innocence was only strength- 
ened and confirmed by all the efi*orts he saw being made 
to establish his guilt. The stableman, that the count had 
nearly killed a year before, had left the country, but he 
had been traced to Moidagne whence he was to be brought 
to give evidence. 

And thus the manoeuvres of the adverse party were 
urged on with the greatest activity. There was already 
a rumor in the town that an eminent barrister, celebrated 
as the possessor of the sharpest tongue at the Paris bar, 
was to protect the interests of Chasscvent, who was 
bringing an action for damages; and all these tales, re- 
lated at Clairefont by the Saint- Andres and the Tou- 
rettes, who stood up manfully for their friends, threw 
Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice into agonies of fear. She 
wanted to see Pascal. 

‘^f we could only talk to him and know what are his 
opinions and his hopes,^^ said the old maid. The duty 
of a lawyer is to reassure his clients first and next to gain 
his case. What and who is this invisible barrister ? The 
moral influence of his name is all very well, but I shall 
not have any confidence in him until I have heard him 
talk for an hour straight off without stopping.^' 

And Antoinette, giving way to her aunt's persistence, 
wrote to Maitre Malezeau, asking him to bring Pascal to 
the chateau. 

It was one of the most agitated moments of his life 
when Pascal stood with the attorney at the entrance gate 
of the chateau, where, the trace of the yellow bills could 
still be seen on the stone pillars. It was near the clump 
of bushes by the gate, that he had heard one evening, as 
he wandered round the park, the deer-hound growl at his 
vicinity and Antoinette speak softly to soothe and quiet 
the dog. He found himself in the hall without know- 
ing how he had crossed the court-yard ; then a door 
opened, and he saw Aunt Isabelle, the marquis and 
Antoinette in the drawing-room. A cloud floated before 
his eyes ; there was a whirring in his ears ; and it seemed 
to him that he was walking in the midst of flames. Then 
he distinguished Malezeau's voice, saying : 

‘‘May I present Monsieur Pascal Carvajan to you, 
marquis? Mademoiselle, Monsieur Pascal Carvajan." 


ANTOINETTE. 


211 


The marquis, looking pale and venerable, smiled and 
vravcd his hand without rising, and said : 

“ lie is very welcome.^^ 

Pascal bowed, and seated himself near the fireplace, on a 
chair that Antoinette drew forward for him. In a large, 
deep arm-chair sat the marquis, still smiling and talking 
with a thin, expressionless voice which sounded like a 
tiny bell. And around the old man sat his daughter, with 
her faithful deer-hound stretched carelessly at her feet 
like a Sphinx, Aunt Isabelle, as red as the crater of an 
active volcano, and Malezeau. 

Pascal looked anxiously for Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil, 
but could not see him. Perhaps he was in the chateau, 
or perhaps he had been compelled to return to Evreux to 
resume his military duties. Malezeau and Mademoiselle 
de Saint-Maurice were talking, while Antoinette, sad and 
grave, listened abstractedly. Twice Pascal felt her eyes 
on him, but he dared not look up. Can it be possible?^' 
he was thinking, ‘‘can it really be that I am seated in 
this drawing-room beside her? Have I indeed overcome 
her repugnance after so much hatred and disdain? She 
has already stretched out her hand to me once, and now 
she throws open the door of her house to me. I am near 
her; I see her; I inhale the perfume which emanates 
from her. How have I won so much happiness, after so 
much sorrow ? 

But a shadow stole over his mind. Was it Pascal Car- 
Vajan who was being received as a guest; was it to Pascal 
Cai*vajan that friendly glances were cast and hands affec- 
tionately held out ? Were not these courtesies addressed 
merely to Eobert’s defender, to the useful, powerful ally 
who could help to save the heir of the house? He was 
not admitted into their circle — he was tolerated, that was 
all. And what did they think of him? What was hid- 
den behind this politeness with which they were welcom- 
ing him? Perhaps an ironic contempt for the renegade, 
the traitor. How did he know but what at that very mo- 
ment Antoinette was thinking : “ I am making use of 

you, but I despise you.'' 

Ho felt his heart expand and grow large. “ What mat- 
ter ? " ho told himself. “ Is it for their sakes that I have 
resolved to break all the ties that bound me, in order to 
fulfil a terrible duty ? Is it not first for my own sake, for 
the sake of my sense of right, my conscience, my honor ? 
Let them think of me what they will ! " 

He was quite master of himself by now — cool, calm, and 
observant. Ho listened to Malezeau saying to Made- 


212 


ANTOINETTE. 


moiselle de Saint-Maurice : 

There is a session in [N’ovember, mademoiselle, and I 
think, mademoiselle, that, if the trial is to come on, it 
will come on towards the end of that month. The case is 
one of terrible simplicity, mademoiselle.'^ 

And you will answer for this young man ? " asked 
the old maid in lower tones. 

‘‘ As for myself." 

Have you looked at him ? " put in the marquis. He 
is not like his father. Ho ! no ! Hot at all. He will de- 
fend Eobert. It was my idea— and you know my ideas 
are good ones." 

Aunt Isabelle glanced uneasily at the attorney, and 
muttered under her breath : 

He makes me shudder." 

Before she could say any more, Antoinette rose and 
moved towards the steps going down to the terrace. 
Pascal, drawn by an irresistible attraction, followed her. 
The deer-hound rose, lazily stretched himself j then came 
and smelt the young man, and looked at him with his 
wistful eyes as though to say : I know you ; I feel that, 

like myself, you are good, devoted and faithful." And he 
gently licked his hand. 

Funny animal ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice. ‘^It’s the first time I've ever known him to 
make friends with a stranger. He could never bear Mon- 
sieur de Croix-Mesnil." 

On the top of the steps, Antoinette paused, and Pascal 
was able to gaze at her and intoxicate himself with the 
dangerous joy of having her for a few moments entirely to 
himself. He noted with admiration the delicate pallor of 
her complexion, the graceful fall of her shoulders, the 
proud elegance of her carriage. She wore a very simple 
dress of gray cashmere perfectly untrimmed ; over her 
he^ad she held a red sunshade, under which had crept an 
impertinent sunbeam to kiss her neck and cast a golden 
reflection on the little soft stray hairs that curled near 
l^er ears. She looked so charming that Pascal felt tempted 
to kneel as at the feet of a goddess. He had forgotten 
all — his anxiety, his distrust, his bitterness: he could 
think of, he could see, nothing but her. All disappeared 
before the divine beams of her grace and beauty; and he 
was in a heaven of bliss. 

Then she spoke, and recalled him to earth again. 

You see, sir, what our house is," she said, with mel- 
ancholy dignity; ^Hhe sad relic of a grandeur little 
worthy of envy. But such as it is, it is our home; and I 


ANTOINETTE. 


213 


have my suspicions that it is thanks to you we still oc- 
cupy it. You have found some way of making an arrange- 
ment which permits us to continue living beneath this 
roof — I am not well versed in questions of business; but it 
seems to me that so rapid and so favorable a change in our 
position could only have been effected by you. May we 
be as fortunate when Kobert is in question 1'^ 

Pascal dared to raise his eyes to Antoinette's; and en- 
veloping her with the caress of his deep voice, replied : 

If the will were sufficient, I would answer for your 
brother's . safety ; but I ought to promise no more than 
man can fulfil. Still I may assure you that I shall find 
unexpected strength in the knowledge that mine is the 
right cause ; and the more difficulties with which it is be- 
set, the more I shall do to bring it but triumphant." 

Mademoiselle de Ciairefont bent her head in token of 
assent ; then lost herself in a deep reverie. Soon she 
sighed, and her eyes filled with tears. Pascal turned pale, 
and moved toward her ; but she smiled, and said : 

Forgive me —I have so much grief, I forget myself." 
She resumed her former serenity, and went on a little 
haughtily. “You must be good enough to come here 
often, sir. We are sure to be calumniated, and you must 
learn'<to know us; you must live our life, in order to be 
able to defend us.‘ It is a sacrifice, I know, that I am 
asking of you in requesting you to frequent a house where 
you will only find an invalid old man and two sorrowful 
women. But I hope you will be kind enough to resign 
yourself to it ? " 

Ho bowed without replying. He was trembling with 
joy and fear — enraptured at seeing the gates of the cha- 
teau thrown open to him, afraid as ho thought of the agi- 
tation with which this intimacy must fill his heart. 

They turned back to the drawing-room, and, as he 
entered, Pascal heard Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice say 
to Malezeau in furious tones : 

“ But he hasn't opened his lips ! Such a silent barris- 
ter will never save the boy ! No, you will never get me 
to believe that an advocate who doesn't speak once in 
two hours is able to get his client acquitted " 

And the marquis answered in his thin, even little 
voice : 

“ It was my idea. Never fear, auntie — it was my idea, 
‘and it's a good one." ' 

Pascal rejoined Malezeau, took leave of the old mar- 
quis and Aunt Isabelle, and went away, Antoinette ac- 
companying him to the gate. 


214 


ANTOINETTE 


After this first visit, he called daily at Clairefont; and 
on the following afternoon he met Monsieur de Croix- 
Mesnil. He had very much disliked the idea of having 
any connection with, the young officer, but he soon 
changed his opinions. He found the baron a courteous, 
reserved, somewhat cold man whose real merit he was 
not long in discovering. He felt still more favorably 
towards him, when he recognized in him a fellow-sufferer, 
instead of the happy rival he had dreaded. The pretty 
indifference with which Antoinette treated Monsieur de 
Croix-Mesnil seemed to Pascal the extreme of misery; for 
with his ardent temperament he would have found hatred 
infinitely preferable to this kindly insensibility. He saw 
that the baron loved Mademoiselle de Clairefont, though he 
had given up all hope. Eobert's peril was the last tie 
that attached him to this house where he had dreamed of 
living happily, but where now he only suffered, and 
whither he came merely from a sense of duty. He found 
some words of delicate praise to address to his friend's 
defender, and behaved with a refined tact which at once 
gained Pascal's sincere liking. 

The two young men presented a curious contrast in 
their devotion to Antoinette. Both were passionately in 
love, and both equally deterinined* to hide it. The 
one was amiable, polished and light, hiding his senti- 
ments with an easy, well-bred grace. The other, severe, 
cold and sarcastic, but ever and anon giving way to sud- 
den bursts of passion, which made his eyes sparkle and 
flash. 

While the days passed thus in weary waiting at Claire- 
font, in the Eue du Marche the disturbance was ever on 
the increase. Disappointed of his revenge, cheated of 
his booty, Carvajan gave way to a fit of fury which 
caused fears for his reason to be entertained. In the town, 
a reaction was taking place in favor of the victims against 
their tormentor. The material oppression which the 
banker exercised over his vassals left their moral powers 
free. If he was able to make them act according to his 
wishes, he could not force them to think as he chose; and 
the majority were decidedly in favor of the son against 
the father. Carvajan, with the wonderful intuition he 
had always possessed, managed to know the exact state 
of public opinion without going out of his house ; and, 
after testing and weighing and considering it, he was 
angrily obliged to own that people did not hesitate be- 
tween the young man who had never done anyone any 
harm and himself, the tyrant of La Heuville. When 


ANTOINETTE. 215 

Fleury tried to soothe him by telling him the contrary, 
he roughly interrupted the clerk by saying: 

“ Hold your tongue, you idiot, you donH understand what 
you're talking about ! Pascal will be the ruin of us. You 
don’t know himj but I ought never to have let him come 
home. He will twist everyone round his little finger when 
he begins to speak. Triple fool that I have been to quarrel 
with him ! But I was carried away by my passion, and 
passion always makes a fool of one. If I had reasoned 
with him, instead of flying in a rage, we should have 
had , Clairefont as the price of the liberty of that lout 
whoso condemnation won’t be very much satisfaction 
to me after all. I have behaved like a fool I You, 
yourself. Floury, would not have been more stupid than I 
have been. ” And relieved by this outburst, ho strode up 
and down his office, and went on : If I could only see 
Pascal, perhaps things could be arranged even now. But 
he will not' come here, and I cannot go to Malezeau’s — 
I should look as if I were giving in. Oh, if only we 
could win back the victory at the last moment and gain 
the day when they thought to hold us in their power! 
What a triumph ! But how is it to be done ? ” 

One afternoon about five o’clock, as he was walking 
down from Clairefont, Pascal heard someone calling him. 
He stopped, and, at the corner of the Great Marl-Pit, found 
himself face to face with his father. 

“ Since you will not make the first advance, I must,’^ 
said "the old man. Will you have five minutes’ talk 
with mo ? ” 

He drew his son in amongst the woods, and seating 
himself in a hollow, said : 

You are making me very unhappy. I cannot accus- 
tom myself to the idea that you are making common 
cause with my enemies. At my age — when I have so 
short a time to live — to be separated from my son, and 
under such painful circumstances, is more than I can bear. 
Come, what must be done to put an end to this detestable 
dissension?” 

‘<Oh, if you really want to end it, it will soon cease,” 
said Pascal, joyfully. 

Well, come back home and give up the idea of defend- 
ing Eobert de Clairefont.” 

I will come back to your house if you like, father; 
but I cannot shirk the duty I have taken upon myself.” 

But if you defend those people, it is equivalent to 
condemning my conduct.” 

^^Not necessarily; for I can let it be known that I am 


216 


ANTOINETTE. 


doing SO with your consent.” 

Have you then committed yourself so far with these 
Clairefonts asked Carvajan, with increasing irritation, 
have committed myself with no one but myself.” 

Pascal !” cried the mayor. But then he stopped, and 
as though speaking to himself, ‘^The fellow^s as ob- 
stinate as a mule? He'll never listen — never! And yet 
he is being led— hut he is blinded by love.” 

He took his son's arm and roughly shook it. 

‘‘Where are your eyes? Can you not see that the 
young lady up there has the captain of dragoons for her 
lover?” 

“ Father I” cried Pascal, turning white. “ Oh, I will 
not listen to another word !” He hurried back to the 
road, and the banker followed him, still speaking: 

“ They don't marry, because they can do without the 
ceremony. That isn't my invention — the whole town 
says the same. Oh, how they must laugh at you to- 
gether 1” 

Pascal gave a roar of fury, and turning round : 

“Say no more!” he said, “or I might for once forget 
that you are my father !” 

“Very well; then I won't say anything more about 
that. But do not leave me thus. Pascal, I suffer — Pas- 
cal, will nothing move you?” And he raised his face 
drawn with anguish to his son. 

“ Good-bye, father," said the young man gravely. “ I 
will forget what you have just forced me to listen to, as a 
last proof of respect.” 

“ Stay one moment more,” cried the old man. 

He turned very red, opened his lips to speak, but said 
nothing. Apparently he was under the influence of in- 
tense agitation ; but at last he said in jerky tones, as if 
the words were being wrung from him : 

“You do not know what you are doing. You are mak- 
ing yourself enemies from whom I may not always be 
able to protect you. Never come this way again. When 
you go up there, take the high road. Good-bye ! ” And 
he set off almost at a run towards Pourtois' inn, while 
Pascal went back to Malezeau's house thinking : “ My 

father wanted to frighten me. What have I to fear? ” 

And he still continued to take the path by the Great 
Marl-Pit to go to Clairefont. But two days later, as he 
was returning to LaNeuville he heard a report, and a 
branch of a birch tree, broken about a foot above his 
head, fell to the road.^ The young man leaped behind 
one of the thickets with which the road was bordered. 


ANTOINETTE. 


217 


and there waited and searched around as far as his eyes 
could reach. A small cloud of white smoke. was mount- 
ing amidst the crimson rays of the setting sun, but there 
was no one in sight. Whoever had fired had disappeared 
— had probably escaped among the gorse, or hidden in 
some chalk-pit. Pascal stayed still for some moments; 
then, stooping low so as not to be seen, went on his way. 

“ There can be no doubt but that it was Chassevent,^' 
he said to himself. “ But why did he not fire his second 
barrel ? He had time enough. Perhaps he only meant 
to frighten me. And yet the ball passed very close. 

He remembered his father’s caution. Evidently Carva- 
jan suspected the poacher’s project, and unable to make 
the savage brute obey him, had at least tried to put his 
son on his guard. Well, all affection was not dead in 
him. 

Pascal said nothing about this incident at Clairefont ; 
only he took another road thither. 

The following week Eobert was formally committed 
for trial; and the feeble hope, hitherto preserved, that the 
young count might be exonerated from the accusation 
against him, had to be renounced. Soon a rumor was 
spread through the town that the Count de Clairefont had 
been condemned. It took two days to correct this error ; 
and even then it was not completely dispelled. 

Pascal’s task was commencing. He had to install him- 
self at Eouen, not so much to study the case with which 
he was as well acquainted already as the examining mag- 
istrate, as to place himself in communication with his 
client. His last visit to Clairefont was a melancholy one. 
The weather had changed, and a heavy, drenching Nor- 
mandy rain was falling. It seemed as if the very sky 
was turning into water, while La Neuville was enveloped 
in a thick mist, and yellowish clouds rolled up the alleys 
and walks in the park. 

At the idea that Pascal might at last see Eobert, Aunt 
Isabelle sprang up in a stat^ of intense excitement. 

I will go with you ! ” she exclaimed, her face afire. 

Oh, my dear boy, you will not bo so cruel as to refuse 
to take me with you I I want to be there, to hear at once 
the words my poor child may say to you.” 

“ But, mademoiselle, you can speak to him yourself. I 
will obtain leave for you to visit him.” 

Lot us go then, now — at once. I will just put a few 
things in a bag, and then I will be with you. Oh, my 
dear I'riend !” And the old maid threw her arms round 
Piscal’s nock; then rushed excitedly to her room. 


218 


ANTOINETTE. 


Antoinette felt sadder every moment. What mournful 
solitude was she about to endure after all this feverish 
emotion ! She was going to be left in this great chateau 
with her father as her only companion, and Monsieur de 
Croix-Mesnirs flying visits would form the sole break in 
the monotony of their existence. Aunt Isabelle was go- 
ing away with Pascal; and to the young girl it seemed as 
if her life would become a perfect blank. But was it 
Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice or Clairefont’s newest 
guest who occupied so important a space in her thoughts ? 
She felt angry with herself that such a question should be 
possible; she reproached herself for her weakness; and 
summoning her pride to her aid, she received the young 
man^s adieux with haughty coldness. 

We shall not meet again before the decisive day/^ he 
said. “Promise me that you will be there. Your pres- 
ence will be a great source of moral strength to your 
brother, and as for myself — ” He paused; then said 
with a passionate accent she had never known him use 
before : 

“ As for me, be sure that for you and before you I shall 
accomplish the impossible.^^ 

She bowed without replying. Then he said farewell to 
the marquis, who could not be shaken from his smiling 
security; and, accompanied by Aunt Isabelle, he took his 
departure. 

Left alone with the old marquis, it seemed to Antoinette 
that the day was gloomier, the rain more determined, the 
wind more cutting. She did not open her lips until the even- 
ing, but sat absently listening to her father who chattered 
on about nothing at all, like a worn-out windmill turning 
on and on though there is nothing to grind. 

The next day but one brought Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font the delight of news from Aunt Isabelle. The old 
maid had written under the influence of an unwonted 
emotion— she had seen Eobert. And, as the effect evi- 
dently of her gratitude to Pascal who had opened the 
prison doors to her, she talked almost as much of young 
Carvajan as of her nephew, confounding them in her afl 
fection. 

“If you could only see how the poor boy is changed ! 
she wrote. “ He has grown so thin and pale. When we 
went to visit him, it seemed to me as if the corridors we 
had to go through would never end ; but at last the jailor 
stopped before a door pierced with a little hole to look 
through, opened it ; and then we saw my boy. He gave 
an exclamation of delight when he saw me • then as he 


ANTOINETTE. 


219 


recognized Pascal, he drew himself up to his full height, 
and they stood for a moment facing each other. Eobert 
did not know then that our friend was going to defend 
him; and in his surprise at seeing him, he forgot my pres- 
ence. ^ Why is the son of Monsieur Carvajan here ? ^ he 
cried violently. Then the other replied in the voice you 
know, and with a mildness which touched me to the 
heart : ^ To protect the honor and the liberty of the son 

of Monsieur de Clairefont.' They looked at each other, 
as if each were searching the other’s very soul ; then with 
a sigh they fell in one another’s arms. They understood 
each other in a second. Then my boy threw pride to the 
winds, and, no longer restraining his feelings, wept bit- 
terly between us two. We told him all — ^the marquis’ 
illness and the events which have followed it. He seemed 
as though he would never tire of kissing me and pressing 
Pascal’s hands. He sends you his best love, and says you 
are to kiss his father for him. We shall see him again 
to-morrow and every day now.” 

Antoinette watered this letter with her tears. She 
pictured to herself Pascal and Eobert embracing one an- 
other, both confident and gladi What an equality in their 
affection, and yet how great the difference between them ! 
Pascal the son of a roturier — Eobertthe descendant of the 
masters of the province. The one, with his bronzed 
complexion, his short hair, broad forehead, small nose, 
gray eyes and shaven lips, the impersonation of energy 
and intelligence; the other with ruddy cheeks, fair hair, 
large nose, blue eyes and long drooping moustache, the 
incarnation of courage and physical strength. It was a 
striking contrast and one which clearly defined the tem- 
perament and personality of each. She herself, as she 
pictured them thus side by side, asked herself which 
looked the prouder and the nobler — the aristocrat or the 
plebeian. And to the question she could make no re- 
ply. 

Aunt Isabelle wrote every day now, and she seemed as 
if she could not say enough in praise of Pascal. They 
were both lodging at the carriage-builder’s in the Saint- 
Sever quarter, sharing the expenses of their housekeep- 
ing. 

I do not know what I should have done without 
him,” said Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice. ‘^We pass 
our evenings chatting, and he tells me all about his 
travels. Ah, how I misjudged him at first, because of 
his timidity! For he really is as reserved and gentle as 
a girl. He talks to me for hours together, my dear, and 


220 


ANTOINETTE. 


I could listen to him forever. I could never have be- 
lieved a man's tongue could be so well oiled ! And now 
that wo are on confidential terms, he tells me everything. 
If you only knew what he has had to endure because of 
us ! But he has expressly told me never to talk to you of 
it, and you see I do not betray my trust. Only, there is 
one little detail I must tell you, because it proves how un- 
easy our enemies are at Pascal helping us. A few days 
before we left for Eouen, Chassevent fired at the dear boy 
one evening “in the valley of the Great Marl-Pit. Yes, 
those rascals actually tried to deprive us of our advocate ! 
But he escaped, so he must be meant to triumph. That 
is what Fate wills, and that is what my dreams tell me." 

Then a few days later : 

“The great day is drawing near, the session has com- 
menced. Pascal took me, yesterday morning, to see the 
Palais de Justice, which is a marvel of architecture ; and 
he took me to hear a case tried to accustom me to a trial. 
I was awed. How majestic and terrible all those judges 
looked in their red robes ! They made me think of a 
tribunal of Inquisitors. At one end of the room is a 
great Crucifix, towards which witnesses used to stretch 
their hands when they took the oath. How they no lon- 
ger swear before God — which will make it much easier 
for our adversaries to lie. But for all that I feel very 
confident. Yesterday we met Fleury, Tondeur, and Por- 
tois. The two first turned away like a couple of Jesuits, 
the last glanced at us entreatingly. Just fancy, that big 
man has fallen away so in these few weeks that you would 
hardly know him. The skin on his face hangs in loose 
folds, and he’s as thin as a lathe.’ Pascal feels sure that 
the miserable wretch has perjured himself, and that it is 
his remorse which is consuming him." 

Then at length a last letter came : 

“It is only three days now ; but how slowly the time 
seems to pass ! If you start from La Heuville the morn- 
ing of the trial, you will get here at twenty minutes past 
ten, and that will be in plenty of time. I will meet you 
at the railway station in the Eue Verte. The Paris bar- 
rister is here — Pascal saw him this morning. The great 
man has gone to some friends of his at Malaunay for some 
shooting. He will speak between two battues. He is rad- 
ical to the back-bone, and what makes him so vicious is 
that he has not yet managed to be elected senator. Why 
ever don’t they elect him and rid us of him ! As the ter- 
rible moment approaches, Eobert becomes calmer. He 
confides in justice and his defender. He looks a little 


ANTOINETTE. 


221 


more like himself; but that is not saying very much, as 
you will see for yourself. How I wish it were over ! 

The morning of her departure, Antoinette, who, up to 
the last moment, had concealed the date of the trial from 
her father, was forced to own the truth. The old man 
was still in bed when she went to him. He raised him- 
self on his pillows, while the smile which was now always 
hovering round his lips disappeared, and the meaning re- 
turned to his glance. Then he said in his old tones : 

My daughter, this is a time of terrible anxiety for us. 
Go and help your brother. Go and take my place, and 
show by your presence how sure we are that a Clairefont 
cannot have been wanting in honor. Take my blessing 
to my son, and tell him that whatever may be the result, 
I shall never doubt his innocence.^' 

Then the old man laid his hand on his daughter's head, 
and added gently : 

Go, my child, and be brave.^^ 

CHAPTEE XL 

It was three o'clock, and daylight was beginning to fade 
in the assize court. The seats were crowded with an 
enormous throng, which gathered in the passages, and 
overflowed even into the spaces reserved for the reporters 
and barristers. In a corner of the first row of seats, 
where they were shielded from the gaze of the curious, 
Antoinette and Aunt Isabelle had been listening since 
morning to the terrible debate, on the result of which 
hung all they held most dear in this world — the honor and 
the life of Eobert. 

Before them lay the empty space in the middle of which 
was the Bar, and, beyond, the table with the incriminat- 
ing articles — a woollen scarf and a silk handkerchief. 
Quite at the end of the hall sat the judges, impassive, se- 
verely grave and awe-inspiring. On the left was the jury- 
box, and on the right the dock, where stood a Clairefont 
between two gendarmes. Seated just below his client was 
Pascal in his black robe with the whito ermine on his 
shoulder. The whole audience was wrapt in the deepest 
attention, and the struggle between the prosecution and 
the defence was growing hotter and hotter. 

The examination of the prisoner had been favorable to 
Eobert, who, following Pascal’s advice, had displayed 
much tact and moderation. The declaration of Doctor 
Margueron had also left a good impression, but the evi- 


222 


ANTOINETTE. 


deuce of the other witnesses had had an opposite effect 
upon the jury. Tondeurand Fleury had told of deeds of 
terrible violence which the young count had committed, 
and Pourtois, with much hesitation and trembling, had 
described the scene of the murder. The Tuboeufs and the 
stableman from Mortagne had next been called; and, mak- 
ing use of his discretionary power, the presiding judge 
had heard ChassevenPs account of the crime. 

This adverse evidence, skilfully twined together, formed 
a mass of proof very difficult to assail. Yet Pascal, with 
imperturbable coolness and decision, had carefully cross- 
examined the witnesses, casting doubt upon their testi- 
mony, and attempting to make them contradict each 
other. One point which he especially wanted to bring 
forward was the good terms on which Eose and Kobert 
stood with one another. She had followed him that even- 
ing of her OAvn free-will — he had not made any effort to 
persuade her. All the witnesses corroborated this, think- 
ing it tended- to prove the crime — ah, yes, poor child, she 
went gayly off upon his arm — they heard her laughing 
from the road. She did not want much coaxing to flirt 
with the son of the marquis, and he — ! 

In the dock, the oaken rail of which had been polished 
by the restless hands of successive generations of crimi- 
nals, Eobert stood perfectly impassive, listening. In his 
heart he was complaining bitterly against the iniquity of 
this trial. I have often denied the existence of judicial 
errors,^^ he thought,. and said that they were impossible. 
And yet I feel that I, an innocent man, am being over- 
whelmed by a mass of unanswerable evidence, and that 
those jurymen opposite, if their minds are not enlightened 
by the voice of my defender, will condemn me, thinking 
they are acting justly, and certainly according to their 
conscience.^' But he kept calm, making no denial to the 
accusations save by the proud firmness of his attitude. 
Once only when he heard Chassevent charge him with 
his violent temper, did he lose patience, and suddenly 
addressing the poacher, he cried : 

‘‘ The crime of which you are accusing me, and which I 
did not commit, is not the only one of which the Great 
Marl-Pit has been the scene. A murder was attempted 
there quite recently, but of that you do not speak." 

Chassevent turned pale, and the presiding judge or- 
dered Eobert to explain himself; but the young count's 
heat had died out again, and he only answered : 

‘^I am not here to accuse, but to defend myself. That 
man knows very well what I meant." And it was impos- 


ANTOINETTE. 


223 


sible to draw anything further from him. 

But the prosecution had lost ground, and the auditors 
felt there was some mystery surrounding the accusers. 
Then the barrister who was supporting the action Chasse- 
vent had brought for damages, began to speak; and so the 
combat was renewed. Elegant, logical and treacherous, 
his speech entangled Eobert in a net of moral proof, 
while it left the public prosecutor to dwell upon the 
material and circumstantial evidence of guilt. 

During this terrible attack, Antoinette and Aunt Isa- 
belle were on the rack. Their suffering was too intense 
for description. They thought the case lost. Never could 
Pascal efface the impressions left by this horrible diatribe 
in which Eobert^s character was analyzed with startliog 
skill — all the good and generous side being left in obscur- 
ity and the rough, authoritative, violent traits brought 
prominently forward. Thus portrayed, the count was in- 
deed the man who had committed the crime and stifled 
Eose in a movement of brutality, unintentional perhapsj 
but none the less fatal. 

The speech of the public prosecutor put the finishing 
touch to the terror of the unhappy women. As he stood 
in his red gown, this hollow-voiced man seemed to them 
like the forerunner of the executioner. His threatening 
arm looked as though it would sweep off Eobert’s head, 
and to their terrified ears his emphatic eloquence had a 
sinister sound. The dramatic side of judicial display was 
having its effect upon them, and it threw them into a state 
of utter prostration. And yet they managed to under- 
stand that amidst all his sonorous, high-sounding words, 
the speaker conceded attenuating circumstances. It 
meant penal servitude instead of the scaffold ; and the 
thought exasperated Aunt Isabelle to such a degree that 
her niece had all the difficulty in the world to prevent 
her interrupting the proceedings and causing an irremedi- 
able scandal. 

^‘A Clairefont in prison — in a penitentiary, never 
ground out the old maid between her clenched teeth. “ I 
would rather take him some poison myself.^^ 

‘^Listen, aunV' whispered Antoinette, ‘^pray listen, 
and see how calm Monsieur Pascal still is.” 

IPs the calmness of despair !” 

The peroration of the public prosecutor was an appeal 
to the severity of the jury— the enlightened protector of 
judicial equality — and an emphatic scourging of the idle- 
ness which leads to crime. His last words were followed 
by a startled silence. 


224 


ANTOINETTE. 


Then'the presiding judge slowly pronounced the custom- 
ary phrase giving the defender the right of speech ; and 
amidst a murmur of curiosity, Pascal rose. 

He was very pale; but never had ardent determination 
shone more plainly on a man^s face. He turned and scanned 
his audience, allowing his eyes to rest on Antoinette for 
one brief moment as though seeking inspiration from her 
countenance; then he commenced to speak. His tones 
at first were low and almost indolent, as if he disdained 
to refute his adversaries^ arguments; but there was a pen- 
etrating sweetness in them which sent a thrill of delight 
throughout the auditory. 

Before he commenced to argue, he let the influence of 
his caressing voice have full sway. Like some great in- 
strumentalist, he seemed to prelude the burst of his power 
by soft and delicate harmonies. It was so evident that 
he was entirely master of himself that the celebrated 
Paris barrister drew his brows together in a frown, and 
ceased to arrange his papers with an affectation of indif- 
ference. The judge was sitting erect in his deep arm-chair. 
The jury, a prey to that mental agitation which is always 
produced by a master, whether of music or of oratory, 
upon his hearers, sat motionless and intent. And in the 
whole, vast hall, which was darkened by the first shadows 
of evening, there was not a movement, not a whisper. 

Pascal’s melodious voice flowed on, endued with a still 
more poetic charm by the semi-obscurity amidst which it 
was heard ; and Antoinette, her heart throbbing, her nerves 
vibrating, listened to Eobert’s defender with mingled an- 
guish and delight. She knew well that it was for love of 
her he was speaking, that all this seductive persuasion 
was being addressed to her. In her emotion she did not 
hear or understand what Pascal was saying; but his eyes, 
which never left her, were still more eloquent than his 
words. I love you,” they said ; all that I have done, 
all that I shall do, has been and will be to serve you. I 
am fighting for you, for you alone. Do not fear. Since 
it is your cause I am defending, I shall be endued with su- 
perhuman strength, and I shall triumph.” 

Antoinette felt a sudden confidence take possession of 
her. She was no longer afraid. She was in a kind of 
numb torpor in which she could not distinguish the phan- 
tom from the reality. It seemed to her that she was en- 
veloped in a mist, and that she was losing consciousness of 
the things around her. She found herself being carried 
away into hazy space where she listened to the chanting of 
a divine voice which evoked the memory of her own 


ANTOINETTE. 


225 


and her brother's childhood. Again she saw the park at 
Clairefbnt bathed in sunlight. A delicate-looking woman 
was walking on the terrace — it was the marchioness hear- 
ing on her brow the pallid impress of death. And next 
there were the orphans who had not known a mother's love 
and tenderness, and who, between their father utterly de- 
voted to his scientific pursuits, and their aunt who loved, 
but was unable to guide them, had grown up in a liberty 
which was almost wildness. And the family lived a life 
of patriarchal monotony in the vast, silent, deserted cha- 
teau, with the children displaying a reverential aife’ction 
for their father, and an absolute submission to all his 
caprices; and then gradually ruin drew nearer and 
nearer to the home, and the hostility to the old man, 
originating in the covetousness of the whole countryside, 
grew more and more marked. Then as the dull, sullen 
struggle continued between the confederates, who longed 
to gain possession of the estate, and the marquis, now lit- 
tle more than a monomaniac, all the seamy, shady sides of 
the speculation were turned outside, and light was shed 
upon its darkness and its meanness. 

And still the divine voice was sounding in her ears. 
But now it was no longer melancholy and caressing — it - 
rang with a severe though sad sonority, and its touching 
accents fled straight to the hearts of its hearers. It rose 
in harmonious richness, filling every mind with strong 
conviction. The periods were shorter, the arguments 
more pointed as they rushed forth like attacking columns. 
And Antoinette listened, dominated by a feverish, ab- 
sorbing curiosity, merging her identity in that of the man 
who was charming her ears, living his life, warming with 
his enthusiasm, breathing his breath, helping and encour- 
aging him, until at last she wa^ imbued with the idea that 
she was herself defending her brother — that these incisive, 
powerful words were the expression of her thought, and 
that it was she who was speaking through Pascal's lips. 

The sensation was so real that it aroused her from her 
dream. Her eyes unclosed, and she saw again her 
aunt, the crowd, the Bench, her brother and his de- 
fender. 

The pallor had fled from Pascal's cheeks, and his face 
glowed with a contagious excitement, while his gestures 
were now broad and vigorous. He was arguing and rea- 
soning with scathing irony, basing his defense on the 
questions he had put to the witnesses in his cross-exami- 
tion of them. He wrestled with his adversaries and over- 
threw them with a force that was irresistible. The edifice 
16 


226 


ANTOINETTE. 


of facts, SO carefully raised to enclose and keep Bobert 
prisoner, crumbled away to ruins. And by a clever gra- 
dation, the speaker had now arrived at the question of 
what motive Bobert could have had to commit the crime, 
and was showing the impossibility of finding one in any 
way plausible. 

Why should he have killed the girl ? What object 
could he have have had in doing so ? What reason ? 
What interest? There were no moral presumptions on 
which an enlightened mind could for an instant dwell, 
and the circumstantial proof was more than doubtful. 
Who had seen the murderer? Chassevent and Pourtois. 
Under what circumstances had they seen him ? In the 
distance, in the dark, hurrying away. And what depen- 
dence could be placed upon the evidence of this father 
who was influenced by a cupidity shown in his demand 
for damages? Of course he would make Monsieur de 
Clairefont the culprit — Monsieur de Clairefont who would 
pay, and not the skulking good-for-nothing, the mysteri- 
ous and real murderer who had not been searched for, be- 
cause there was no wish to find him. And Pourtois ! A 
trembling, frightened witness, tortured by terrors which 
seemed very like remorse, who stammered and waited for 
Chassevent to prompt him, and who, in short, had seen 
nothing but what the old poacher had told him to see. 
And it was on the testimony of such people as these that 
any one dared to base a capital accusation ! 

Ironic, indignant, scourging, he went on to speak of the 
conspiracy against the Clairefont family. He disclosed 
the snare in which Bobert had been so skilfully caught, 
no longer choosing his words but aiming deadly blows, 
while his taunts and sarcasms hissed and whistled in the 
silence, like a volley of bullets. The terrified confederates 
saw all their strongholds fall one after the other, before 
the furious onslaughts of their adversary. He was left 
master of the field — all was overturned and swept away, 
and the accusation was reduced to nothing. Fleury, 
Tondeur and Chassevent glanced at each other in terror; 
Pourtois moaned and writhed on his seat as utterly limp 
as a burst balloon. Pascal’s victory was assured, and his 
vanquished auditory began to sway and undulate in their 
desire to applaud and show their approval. 

Then, suddenlyreturning to the soft, smooth gentleness 
with which he had begun to speak, he concluded his ora- 
tion in tones more harmonious and more tender than 
those of a prayer. The rounded phrases floated on the air 
like the fumes from a censer. The clamor and the fury 


ANTOINETTE. 


22 ? 


vanished, leaving only tender and profound pity for the 
unhappy man who had suffered so unjustly. The phantom 
of the victim herself was evoked to plead in favor of the 
innocent. A delicious sense of peace stole over every 
listener — every vileness and wickedness were put aside, 
to leave only candor and purity. Then the voice of the 
speaker died away in silence, and from the crowded court, 
arose a murmur, prolonged and panting as a sob. 

For the first time since the morning, Antoinette and 
Aunt Isabelle looked at each other without restraint. 
Their faces were bathed in tears, but hope shone once 
more in their eyes. They clasped each other^s trembling 
hands, but neither dared to speak. 

The sudden sound of noisy applause aroused them 
roughly from their joy. The barrister to whom the care, 
of the civil action had been entrusted was rising in much 
irritation to reply. Peeling the necessity of striking 
some decisive blow, he did not hesitate to employ a per- 
sonal mode of attack. With mischievous, diabolical in-, 
genuity, he seized on what Pascal had said about the 
conspiracy against the Clairefont family, and made that 
the excuse for allusions of a savage ferocity. What! Was 
it Pascal who was denouncing these things ? But could 
they be so reprehensible since, so it was said, it was his 
own father who had instigated them? Were financial 
operations to be presented in the light of shady machina- 
tions? The desire of convincing his audience had carried 
the counsel for the defence too far, and ho had forgotten 
what he owed to justice, what he owed to himself. But 
the motives which had urged him to take up the defence 
of Eobert de Clairefont were inexplicable, and they un- 
doubtedly concealed a manoeuvre by which the opinion of 
the jury was to be misled. 

These few cold, pointed sentences caused a feeling of 
uneasiness in the court. The jurymen looked at one an- 
other, and Antoinette's heart grew heavy, for she knew 
how deeply the venomous words must wound Pascal. 
She felt at that moment as if she were witnessing a deadly 
combat. She grasped Aunt Isabelle's arm so tightly that 
her fingers almost left bruises on Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice's flesh ; and she tried to pray, but the only words 
her lips could form were, ^^My God ! My God ! " 

Pascal started to his feet. Ho shook bis head as might 
a wounded lion his mane, his eyes flashed fire; and strik- 
ing the bar before him with his clenched fist he cried : 

^‘So this is to what you have come? In despair of 
harming the man I defend, you attempt to strike him 


'228 


ANTOINETTE. 


-through me. You accuse me of having forgotten the 
name I bear, in taking up my present position, and you 
dare to question the clearness of my conscience ! Well, 
then, my conscience shall give the reply. Yes, I have 
abandoned all, I have repudiated, I have forgotten every- 
thing, to lend Eobert de Clairefont the aid of my speech; 
and that is the most brilliant proof of his innocence I 
could possibly give you. If he had committed this crime, 
what man should I be — I, the son of his father’s enemy, I, 
who am supporting and encouraging him? His guilt 
means mine, my honor vouches for his. And so at this* 
moment, every force and energy in my being arises to at- 
test to you that he is not guilty ! ” 

It was the, expression of so great an exasperation, an 
outbreak of such violence that the two women forgot all, 
and saw nothing but Pascal standing superb in his indig- 
nation, radiant with pride. For some seconds he was 
simply transfigured, as he glanced defiantly at his oppo- 
nent, ready to continue the struggle, to lay bare his heart, 
to have the knife thrust into his quivering flesh, if needs 
were, to assure the triumph of his cause. All around him 
he saw faces glowing and eager with emotion. He 
guessed that the battle was won, and, with an ample ges- 
ture which included the whole court, he said : 

^^Now, I think I have said enough. Any further insist- , 
ence would be but an insult to my hearers.” 

And that was the last cannon boom of the battle. 

The presiding judge read over the usual formula to the 
jury, in a sulky voice, and seeing the shattered condition 
of the prosecution, mentioned, as a last hope, the subsi- 
diary question of death having been caused by wounds or 
blows inflicted without the intention of killing. But his 
summing up was almost equivalent to an abandonment 
of the case. Then the judges withdrew, the jury retired 
to deliberate upon their verdict, the prisoner was taken 
out of court, and with noisy animation the audience rose 
and stretched their limbs. 

Thepr^^ofre was besieged with barristers who crowded 
round Pascal, and enthusiastically congratulated him on his 
speech. The great confrere from Paris himself threaded 
his way through the throng of junior counsel to compli- 
ment his opponent, and Aunt Isabelle was lost in aston- 
ishment as she saw the two men shake each other by the 
hand and smile. 

What ! He is speaking to him ! I should have thought 
he would have tried to strangle him after what they have 
been saying to each other !” 


ANTOINETTE. 229 

“ They were only words, auntie. Blown away by the 
wind as soon as uttered.^^ 

Oh, my dear, did you hear our Pascal ? What a splen- 
did fellow, to be sure! I could hardly breathe there was 
such a lump in my throat — and I wentfirst cold, then hot! 
Groodness, what talent it must need to move people to 
such a degree 1 And did you notice the jury? Oh, my 
child, how pleased I am I” 

Wait a little while auntie ; it is not all over yet.^' 

^^Nonsense! Can there be any doubt of the verdict?’ 
All those men can’t surely have been bought over by 
Carvajan, and the case is as clear as daylight.” 

The old maid jumped to her feet as if moved by a 
spring. Pascal was standing before her. He had slipped 
away from the admiration of his brother-barristers and 
had come to seek his recompense — a look, a word from 
Antoinette. 

Well, my dear boy,” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice, excitedly, he is saved, isn’t he?” 

I hope so,” answered the young man ; and it is the 
general opinion; but with a jury one never knows. We 
must wait patiently.” 

How long the time seems I” murmured Antoinette. 

It will seem short when you are going home with your 
brother.” 

“ Oh, is it possible that I may do so ? I have so de* 
spaired.” 

“Well, you will know in a moment now.” 

The little bell rang, announcing that the jury had de- 
cided. A deep hush, which oppressed the two women 
painfully, fell over the hall ; and the public resumed their 
seats in impatient curiosity. Pascal regained his place at 
the bar; then the judges came in, looking stern and som- 
bre. The lamps had been lighted during the interval, 
and the dull, severe faces of the magistrates stood out 
shdrply against the high, dark wainscoting. The jury 
re-entered, and rising to their feet, all awaited the ver- 
dict with eager anxiety. Then the thin, trembling voice 
of the foreman was heard saying : 

“ On my honor and my conscience, before Grod and be- 
fore man, the verdict of the jury on all the charges is — 
Not Gruilty.’^ 

From every part of the court arose a glad, excited ac- 
clamation at the acquittal. Then, when quiet reigned 
again, the prisoner was brought back to his place ; and a& 
he stood anxious and trembling, a frightful bellowing was 
heard like that of an animal being killed. It was Made- 


^30 


ANTOINETTE. 


moisello de Saint-Maurice, who, for the first time in her 
life, was hysterical. Twenty people at once hurried to 
the old maid's assistance, and the words of the judge, non- 
suiting Chassevent's claim and commanding the release of 
Eobert were lost amidst an uproar impossible to allay. 
Then the judges retired, the pretoire was deserted, and 
the usher called for the court to be cleared. 

‘^Auntie, let us go and find Eobert!" exclaimed An- 
toinette. 

These words at once restored Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Maurice to her senses ; and rising to her feet, she put her 
hat straight with a scared gesture, and stammered out : 

Where is the boy ? " 

Guided by Pascal, supported by her niece, she reached 
the door by which the witnesses had entered the court; 
and there, in the ante-room, she found Eobert awaiting 
her. She hurried to him with outstretched arms ; but he 
anticipated her, and pressing Pascal to him, cried : 

This one first ! And you must not be angry with me 
for saying so, you whom I love so dearly I " 

“ Oh, no I " replied Aunt Isabelle, in a transport of de- 
light. ‘f He has well deserved it." 

The young count caught hold of his sister and his aunt, 
gathered them to his broad bosom, laughing and crying 
at the same time; then, pushing them towards his de- 
fender : 

Kiss him ! " he cried. I owe him my life ; for I had 
resolved to kill myself, if I were condemned." 

With a thrill Antoinette found herself quite close to 
Pascal. The room seemed to swim round her, and she 
thought she was going to fall, but she managed to take 
his hand and press it convulsively ; and then with an ex- 
quisite emotion, she felt her hair brushed by the lips of 
her brother's defender. 

Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice could not take her eyes 
off Eobert. It seemed as though she had not seen him 
for ages. 

^^You do not look like you did yesterday, my poor 
boy," she said. 

^‘No, aunt. To-day, mine is the face of a happy man." 

My dear count," said Pascal, if you will take my 
advice, you will not stay hero any longer than you can 
help. We will go and get the formal permission for you to 
leave the prison, and you can catch the eight o'clock train 
to La Heuville. In the meantime, perhaps, the ladies 
will send a telegram to Monsieur Malezeau, who will bear 
the news to your father. We must not delay his joy by 


ANTOINETTE. 


231 


a minute.^^ 

“You are right, as always! But are these good men 
going to come with us ? he asked, designating the gend- 
armes who were standing a little apart. 

“ They must take you back, in the same way as they 
brought you.^^ 

“ They have been very kind to me. Aunt, give me all 
the money you have about you.” And he emptied the 
contents of Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice^s purse into 
the hands of the astonished men • then, turning to Pascal, 
said : “ Let us go. I confess I am eager to be free to go 
whither I choose.” 

By nine o'clock, they were in sight of La Neuville. 
The train slackened speed on the Pont de la Thelle, and 
whistled to announce its entrance into the railway-station. 
Robert, leaning out of the window, saw the lamps in the 
distance, dotting the darkness with brilliant spots. At 
last he nervously rose to his feet saying : 

“ In half an hour we shall be kissing our father.” 

But a surprise was awaiting him at the station. On the 
platform he found Croix-Mesnil walking up and down. 
The two friends uttered a simultaneous exclamation of 
pleasure, and before the train had stopped, the count had 
leaped out, and was exchanging some rapid words with 
the baron. The latter, with moist eyes and beaming face, 
bowed to Antoinette and Aunt Isabelle, pressed Pascal's 
hand, and saying, “ Come along,” led the way out of the 
station. They crossed the waiting-room, and before the 
door, seated in the old britska, they found the marquis. 

He was awaiting, with Malezeau, the arrival of his son. 
He had wished, as the head of the family, to be there to 
receive him, and thus in a way solemnly to reinstate him 
in his former position. Robert, who had borne unflinch- 
ingly all the terrible trials that had befallen him, broke 
down before this manifestation of his father's affection; 
and fell upon the old man's neck, weeping like a child. 

“ There's a group of happy people, Pascal,” said Male- 
zeau, “ and it is to you they owe their joy. I hope they 
will not forget it.” 

The young man sadly shook his head. 

, “ I shall not allow their gratitude to be a heavy burden 
to them,” he replied. 

And approaching the carriage, he took his leave in a 
few brief sentences, steadfastly refused the pressing invi- 
tation of Robert who wanted him to go to Clairefont, and 
went away with Malezeau. He watched the carriage 
which was bearing off Antoinette disappear in the dark- 


232 


ANTOINETTE. 


ness; then with a sigh he muttered : 

“ It is all over ! And was not his dream of happiness 
indeed at an end? He walked on with Malezeau through 
the silent, slumbering town. As they passed through the 
Eue du Marche, they noticed a light in the windows of 
Carvajan's office. 

^^Your father is up late,^' said the lawyer. And as 
some dark shadows moved across the blinds : 

He is not alone,” added Pascal. “ Fleury and Ton- 
deur caught the train before ours, and no doubt they are 
holding a council of war at this very moment. What can 
they still wish to do ? ” 

^‘Nothing, I would swear. I met Monsieur Carvajan 
at seven o^clock this evening — I had gone to the tele- 
graph office to ask if the telegram I was so impatiently 
awaiting had not come. Your father, for the same reason, 
was already there. We bowed to each other in silence; 
for we had not spoken for more than three weeks ; and 
we waited there in much anxiety. In about a quarter of 
an hour the telegraphic apparatus began to move, and the 
clerk, who shared our curiosity, called out to us, ^Ac- 
quitted I ' We did not wait to hear more, but came away. 
Outside, your father paused ; he was very pale, and I 
thought he was going to faint. I went up to him; he 
caught hold of my arm, clung to it, and said in stifled 
tones ; ‘ I was sure he would win the day. From the 

moment he turned against us, I looked upon all as lost. 
He is a Carvajan, you see. He has all my determination 
combined with his education and a je ne sais quoi that he 
has got from his mother.^ ‘A noble heait,' I said. He 
bent his head. ^ Perhaps that is the secret of his strength,' 
he muttered. ^He has different ideas from other people's, 
and he can express them in a way that no one else can. 
Oh, I know him well. I told them that Pascal would beat 
us all. The fools ! They wouldn't believe me. He 
must have spoken well. That chatter-box from Paris, 
who has cost me such a sum in fees didn't have an ounce 
of influence, I know, or the Avocat-Greneral either! He 
swept them all before him! Ha, ha! he's a true Carva- 
jan!' Your father concluded with a gesture of pride; 
then he said no more until he reached his own door. There 
he stopped, and holding me by the button of my coat, 

‘ Malezeau,' he said, ^ shall we be friends again ? Bring 
me my son to-morrow morning.' And seeing that I was 
about to speak ; ‘ Hot a word,' he added. ^ Think it over 
first, and advise the boy. Good-bye.' And he went in- 
doors. You can see from that, that he has no intention 


ANTOINETTE. 


233 


of continuing the struggle. Besides he could not, even if 
he would. But do you feel inclined to gratify his desire ? ” 

“ I am^ quite willing to see my father,” said Pascal, 

but I will not go to his house. He has turned me out 
of it.” 

I will let him know what you say.” They had reached 
the lawyer^s door by this time, and they entered the 
house. 

‘^You will have some supper, will you not?” asked 
Malezeau. 

I am not ashamed to own that I am dying with hun- 
ger, and ready to drop with fatigue.” 

Come, my dear,” said the lawyer to his wife, who was 
rushing downstairs, showering felicitations on Pascal in 
a voice trembling with delight, here is a young con- 
queror v(ho stands less in need of congratulation than of 
cold chicken. Lead the way to the dining-room, if you 
please.” 

Pascal slept the sleep of victory that night : and it was 
broad daylight when he awoke. In the garden, laid bare 
by the autumn winds, the birds were chirping merrily as 
they chased one another amongst the leafless shrubs. The 
young man rose, and seeing how blue the sky was ; 

‘^They are happy at Clairefont this morning,” he 
thought. It must be pleasant out on the terrace, in the 
sun.” 

In his imagination he could see a stately girl walking^ 
up and down on the golden gravel by the stone balustrade. 
Her dress was no longer black, but bright and gay as her 
own thoughts. Beside her walked a tall young man, as 
he, Pascal, had done, nearly every day, during the time 
of trouble. But when happiness returned to the house it 
had driven the protector out, and it was now Eobert or 
Croix-Mesnil who accompanied Antoinette in her walk. 
^‘Did I not know beforehand that it would be thus ? ” 
thought Pascal. And am I going to complain ? Ho, 
no ! Let them be glad even at the price of my own hap- 
piness. By restoring peace to their minds, and tranquil- 
lity to their hearts, I have only acquitted my father’s ter- 
rible debt.” 

He went down to the garden, and sauntered along the 
box-boarded paths, listening to the murmur of a little 
fountain which rippled into a basin in the middle of the 
lawn. Just as the mayoralty-clock struck eleven, a win- 
dow on the ground-floor was opened, and Malezeau ap- 
peared, saying, 

Pascal, will you come into my ofiice ?” 


234 


ANTOINETTE. 


The young man went into the house, passed through 
the study, opened a door, and saw his father standing 
by the mantel-piece in the lawyer^s office He stood 
motionless, gazing at the banker, and thinking how 
changed he looked. Malezeau gathered up some papers 
and went into the study, leaving the father and son to- 
gether. 

Pascal,'^ said Carvajan, holding out his hand. 

Coldly the son placed his in it. Then drawing for- 
ward a chair for his father, he remained standing before 
him. 

Are you willing that all should be forgotten 1 ” asked 
the mayor after some hesitation. You see, it is I who 
come to you. I have been wrong. But you have forced 
me to make bitter expiation for my faults.^' 

Father, it does not depend solely on me that all should 
be forgotten. I am not the only one in question. There 
are — '' 

The people up there,'^ growled Carvajan, pointing to- 
wards the hill. ‘‘Well, what more do they want? You 
have assured their triumph. They have got the best of 
it. Do they want me to go and tender my homage as 
well?’' And with a dreadful laugh, the old man added : 
“Ah, if they had not had you!" Then changing his 
tone: “I suppose they will know how to show their 
gratitude?" he said. 

Pascal could not help a blush rising to his cheek. 

“ I expect no recompense from anyone, father." 

“Hot even from the beautiful Antoinette ? She would 
be indeed ungrateful, if, after all you have done for her, 
she did not love you." 

“ I propose going away next week," said Pascal, ab- 
ruptly, “ and it will be a long while before I return to 
La Heuville again." 

“Indeed? And they will allow you to go? But, of 
course, why should they keep you? They have no fur- 
ther need of you. You have saved the heir of the house, 
and you have given them your money — what more is 
there for them to get ? You would only be in the way, 
my poor boy ; your presence would be a constant remind- 
er of the services you have rendered. You will always 
be very much liked ; but if you're at a distance, it will be 
so much pleasanter ! " 

“ Father ! " 

“Listen — will you stay? For you, I will give up all 
my schemes of ambition. People know now what you 
have in you, and if you would stand at the next election 


ANTOINETTE. 


235 


no one would dare to offer himself as an opponent. You 
might be the master of the district, if you liked ; we could 
rule it, Pascal. Do you understand what I am ready to 
do for your future? If you choose— well, we could make 
the thankless understand what a man like you is worth. 
Come, give me your hand — of your own free will, this 
time ! ” , 

The young man sadly shook his head. 

I thank you, father, but my mind is made up, and I 
shall not alter it. It will do me good to expatriate my- 
self for a little while." 

Then you will accept nothing at my hands ? " 

Pascal looked fixedly at his father. 

Will you give me what I ask you? " 

A furrow came on Carvajan's forehead; still, he an- 
swered: 

“Make your request,” 

“Well, then, my task is still incomplete. I have ob- 
tained an acquittal for Eobert de Clairefont; I have 
snatched him from the hands of the Jaw ; but I have not 
quite washed away the stain which soils his honor; I have 
not found the real culprit. Father, help me to obtain this 
last success, and many disagreeable recollections will be 
effaced from my memory.” 

The old man sat lost in thought; he seemed to forget 
he was not alone. 

“ The same nature,” he muttered ; “ the same ardor, 
the same determination; only he has not drawn his 
strength from rancor, as I have done. He has devoted 
himself to his love as I have devoted myself to my hatred. 
What is the good of raising obstacles? He will only 
overturn them.” 

Then, emerging from his meditation: 

“ I cannot tell you what you wish to know — I do not 
know it myself. But Chassevent no longer dares to lay 
snares at night in the Clairefont valley, and Pourtois is 
but the shadow of his former self. The Great Marl-Pit 
contains a secret — it is there you must search.” 

“ Thank you. I will search.” 

Carvajan had risen. 

“You will not go away without seeing me again,” he 
said. 

“Ho, father.” 

“Very well.” 

They shook hands a second time, and then the mayor 
left. 

About three o^clock, Eobert arrived in quest of Pascal. 


236 


ANTOINETTE. 


At the chateau they were all astonished that he had not 
yet been to see them, and Aunt Isabelle in particular was 
furious. 

Then they set out for Clairefont. It was a lovely 
autumn afternoon. The beeches in the park had turned a 
deep, rich red which made the green of the firs look still 
more sombre by contrast. The air was soft and mild, 
and the larks were soaring high into the sky, gayly caroll- 
ing the while. The two young men took the path where 
Chassevent’s bullet had passed so close to Pascal's head ; 
and the barrister showed his friend the birch tree with the 
branch broken off. 

It's a good thing for you the rascal hadn't loaded his 
.gun with buck-shot," said the count. ^‘If he had, ho 
would most probably have killed you. And then where 
should I have been now ? " 

A hundred yards farther on, Robert stopped, and point- 
ing to a large gap in the thicket, where the ground was 
very much trodden and trampled : 

Why, look I " he said. Gan there be big game here ' 
of a night ? " 

Pascal stooped down, and tried to find the impress of an 
animal's foot in the chalky soil of the path, but he could 
only see large, blurred tracks. 

Oh, don't trouble to look. See how high up ,the 
branches are broken — it must certainly be some deer. 
We'll have something to say to them some of these days 
if you like." 

Pascal made no answer: he was thinking; and they fin- 
ished their walk to the chateau in silence. 

They found the dining-room empty, so they went out 
to the terrace, where the whole family was sitting in an 
arbor - the marquis lying lazily back in a large bamboo 
arm-chair, while Antoinette read the paper to him, and 
Aunt Isabelle, her face redder than ever, busy with her 
everlasting knitting. For the first time for a very long 
while, the occupants of Clairefont had resumed their tran- 
quil, domestic life; and they no longer avoided each other 
in an endeavor to hide their anguish and their tears; for 
now they had only smiling faces to show. 

It was Fox who announced the arrival ofthe two young 
men by his barks of delight. 

‘‘Ah, here at last is the companion of my exile!" ex- 
claimed Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice. And taking the 
barrister by the shoulders, she kissed him on both cheeks. 

“ Ah, my dear boy, to-day our hearts are not so heavy, 
are they, eh?" 


ANTOINETTE. 


237 


Pascal bowed ceremoniously to Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font; then he looked round for Croix-Mesnil, but the 
baron had gone back to Evreux only that morning. The 
marquis found all sorts of kind words in which to thank 
his son’s defender. During the last three weeks he had 
made rapid strides towards health. He had recovered 
all his faculties, but the violent shock to which he had 
succumbed had left an unconquerable indolence behind it. 
He no longer busied himself with his inventions ; and the 
laboratory was forsaken. He himself told Pascal of this 
singular change, finishing gayly by saying; 

In fact, now I don’t want to work at all ; and that, I 
believe, is the surest way to rebuild my fortune.” 

He took the young man’s arm and slowly walked along 
the terrace with him. 

“ Ther^e are, I know, some questions of interest to be 
settled between us,” he said, “ but I will not insult you 
by speaking to you about money. Malezeau is there to 
arrange all that.” 

I will discuss money matters very seriously with him, 
sir, if you will allow me to do so,” replied Pascal. I 
have reasons for thinking that the Great Marl-Pit could 
be made a source of great profit to you. An active, in- 
telligent manager would soon put it into working order 
again ; and I will undertake to find an engineer who will 
devote himself to the task.” 

The marquis watched his companion narrowly as he 
listened to him, and the young man explained his views 
and ideas with a practical lucidity which made a great 
impression on Monsieur do Clairefont. When, tired of 
walking, the old man returned to Aunt Isabelle and An- 
toinette, he took advantage of the absence of Pascal and 
Kobert to say ; 

I have just been talking business to Monsieur Carva- 
jan, and he has astonished me. He is really a very re- 
markable man.” 

Do you think I have not found that out before now?” 
cried Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice, impetuously. I 
know him — I, who have lived with him, like mother and 
son. Ho is nothing short of a marvel. And you take to 
yourself the honor of the discovery !” 

Antoinette, bending over her embroidery, did not utter 
a word ; but her fingers shook strangely as they plied the 
needle. 

Pascal stayed to dinner at the chateau. All the even- 
ing he was very reserved in his behavior, and about ten 
o’clock he took his leave. Eobert offered to go with him 


238 


ANTOINETTE. 


as far as the little gate in the park, and as he was kissing 
his aunt, she asked: 

What is the matter with Pascal this evening ? He is 
perfectly icy. One cannot get a word from him ; isn't it 
so, Antoinette 

Well, aunt, I have not noticed — '' 

Oh, you never do see anything, do you ? 

It was a very dark night, and Robe^'t told Bernard to 
bring him a lantern. The old servant seemed uneasy, 
and said ; 

‘‘ If you will allow me, sir, I will go with you. Once 
night has fallen, it is not very nice to be about alone." 

But why not?" asked Pascal. 

Begging your pardon, sir, but since the accident, all 
about the Oreat Marl-Pit is haunted, as you might say. 
And things happen there at night that are best not seen," 

^‘Nonsense, you old stupid!" said Robert. “Those 
are tales of a coward or a drunkard. But, make yourself 
easy, I am not afraid of anything I may meet." 

He took the lantern and set off with Pascal. They 
went down the slopes of the park until they reached the 
short cut to the town. The count drew the bolts, opened 
the door, and prepared to go on as far as the outskirts of 
LaNeuville; but his companion would not hear of such 
a thing. 

“ Here is the high road," he said, “ and I could find my 
way along it blindfolded." 

After many friendly protestations, Robert turned back, 
and Pascal found himself alone. But instead of continu- 
ing his walk towards La Neuville, he turned in the direct 
tion of Pourtois' inn. The tavern was closed and silent, 
though a faint light shone through the crack of the door 
Pascal gained the narrow footpath that runs beside the 
Great Marl-Pit, and muffling the sound of his steps as 
much as he could, walked up it towards Couvrechamps, 
attentively watching everything around him the while. 
His only weapon was his iron-wood stick; but he was ac- 
customed to nocturnal walks through fields and woods, 
and his heart was not beating any faster than usual. 
Suddenly he stopped — he had just recognized the gap to 
which Robert had drawn his attention that afternoon. 
Then he went on about fifteen paces farther, and seeing 
an enormous juniper tree growing amidst the heath by 
the roadside, he stationed himself with his back against 
it; and, perfectly invisible in the dark, deep shadow, 
waited. 

The sky was studded with stars. The moon was rising 


ANTOINETTE. 


239 


like a coppery disc above the woods of La Saucelle; and 
soon the fields would be fiooded with her clear, cold 
light. The silence in the deserted valley was disturbed 
by strange, faint rustles — plants were opening their 
thirsty cups to the dews of night, insects were sliding and 
crawling from branch to branch, and the shadows were 
alive with nocturnal frolics. 

Pascal thought of the evening he had just passed at 
Clairefont. Not once had Antoinette spoken to him. 
Her behavior had been such as he had known it before he 
had rendered his services to her family — cold and haughty. 
When he thought she would be forced to bestow her con- 
fidence and friendship upon him, he found her indifferent 
and drifting away from him. Was she utterly heartless ? 
The day before, during the trial, he had seen her weeping^ 
as he spoke. For a short moment ho had dominated and 
taken possession of her; he had entered her rebellious 
heart as its sovereign master. But the impression had 
boon but a passing one, and he had been speedily deprived 
of his conquest. 

Ah, what comfort and joy would one word from her 
have brought him — one word of loving gratitude ! In 
his hunger for affection, he would have hailed the testi- 
mony of a kindly feeling as a supreme consolation, and 
the memory of it would have flourished and bloomed in 
his desolate heart, like a fiower springing up among some 
ruins. 

The Clairefont clock striking twelve changed the course 
of Pascaks ideas. The moon was now high in the heavens, 
and the valley was bathed in silvery light. Until what 
hour ought I to wait ? I am here like Horatio waiting, 
for the ghost of the dead king on the platform of Elsi- 
nore. If my father has not deceived me, whom am I go- 
ing to see ? And if anyone does come, will he pass 
where I am standing ? ” 

Some secret instinct told him that his position was welt 
chosen, and he stayed obstinately on. He amused him- 
self by watching the gambols of two hares playing on the 
path,, while on the Clairefont heights a fox was barking 
to summon his vixen who was lying hid. But about one 
o'clock he began to lose patience; and he was about to go 
away, intending to come again the following night, when 
the hares suddenly pricked up their ears and leaped 
into the thicket. There was a sound of footsteps on the 
path. 

A thrill ran through Pascal's frame; he clinched his 
teeth, and tightened his grasp upon his thick stick. The 


240 


ANTOINETTE. 


footsteps drew nearer and nearer, ringing clearly in the si- 
lence like those of a man advancing without any fear or 
precaution. A shadow fell across the moonlit path ; and 
Pascal recognized Eoussot, bare-headed and with his 
clothes all disordered. 

He came on, his eyes open and fixed and vacant, his 
movements stiff and automatic as though he were obeying 
a force of which he was unconscious. He passed by, and 
strode through the gap. Pascal at once started to follow 
him, but the shepherd did not seem to hear him. Ho 
walked on. straight before him without hesitating, without 
pausing, with the regular, even motion of a machine. 
When he reached the edge of the hollow where Eose had 
been found dead by her father and Pourtois, he stopped. 
An expression of despair came over his face, he wrung his 
hands ; then with a doleful wail, he went on his way 
again, going in the direction of Couvrechamps. Pascal 
continued to follow him, and thus they arrived at the cem- 
etery. The idiot vaulted over the low wall, and going to 
a grave, at the head of which stood a simple wooden cross, 
he threw himself on his knees and began to moan. He 
fell on the stone and passionately kissed it, murmuring in 
tones of supplication : Oh, Eose ! Forgive me, Eose ! " 

And it was a dreadful sight to see this madman calling to 
the dead girl amidst the silence and solitude of the grave- 
yard, with sobs of love and remorse. 

For a long time Eoussot remained there, writhing in 
an agony of regret ; then at last he rose and departed as 
he had come. 

Pascal stayed leaning against the wall, lost in thought. 
The veil had been abruptly torn asunder, and now he 
knew the truth. In an instant his imagination grasped 
the scene of the murder. How was it he had never 
guessed this before ? Again he could see Eoussot teasing 
and playing with Eose with dangerous glee. Within 
this being deprived of reason, a passionate desire had 
sprung up, and with the ferocious bestiality of a wild ani- 
mal he had attempted to gratify it. In the paroxysm of 
his amorous fury, he had carried Eose off by main force, 
but the unexpected arrival of Chassevent and Pourtois 
had forced him to fly ; and the force of his embrace had 
been mortal. He had killed the girl when he had only 
meant to stifle her cries, and now he passed his days in 
thinking of her, and his nights in seeking her and calling 
her in the nightmare of his phantom-haunted sleep. 

And thus he could be made to betray himself and fur- 
nish proofs of his own crime. It was sufficient to see him 


ANTOINETTE. 


241 


walk moaning through the heath, and roll in horrible ec- 
stasy on the grave-stone, to dissipate all doubt. But 
would he repeat on the morrow what he had gone through 
just now? Would he perform every night this terrible 
pilgrimage to the scene of his crime? 

Twice more Pascal came, and twice more he witnessed 
the same sight. The somnambulist came, crossed the 
heath, paused by the excavation ; then went on to the 
cemetery, each time his frightful nightmare following the 
same course. Then, without mentioning his discovery to 
a soul, Pascal called on Jousselin, asked him to accom- 
pany him to the house of the Procureur of the Republic; 
and there he related what he had seen, and requested that 
some one might accompany him to verify the decisive 
fact. 

I am entirely at your disposal," said the Procureur, 
very 'much impressed, “ and I will take the necessary 
measures to render our expedition legally useful. Then 
perhaps Monsieur de Clairefont has been the victim of a 
deplorable judicial error after all ? We thought that you 
had snatched a culprit from our hands," he added, smiling, 

though we could not but admire your victory. But if 
you client is innocent, we shall owe you untold thanks; 
for in France the magistracy is always ready to own a 
mistake, and only seeks the truth." 

Then, if you are willing, we will meet at the little 
park door this evening, at eleven o^clock. Monsieur 
Jousselin can post his men inside the church and conceal 
himself near the cemetery ; for though I am sure that the 
shepherd can neither see nor hear when he is in that 
condition, it is safer for us to hide ourselves." 

At five o'clock Pascal appeared at Clairefont, wherer he 
was totally unexpected. He was hailed with exclama- 
tions of delight by Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice and 
Robert, and the marquis received him as usual with the 
utmost graciousness. Antoinette walled herself in with a 
somewhat sombre gravity. Lately there had been a 
great change in her. She, who used to -be the light and 
life of the house, would now sit for hours together with- 
out opening her lips ; and if her aunt touched her to 
arouse her, she would start as though suddenly recalled 
from the land of dreams. She was sweet and gentle, as 
she had always been, but she had evidently some secret 
which occupied all her thoughts. Croix-Mesnil had ob- 
tained a week’s leave and was staying at the chateau. 
He took immense pains to please and distract the young 
girl, accompanying her on her walks and doing his best 


242 


ANTOINETTE. 


to make her talk. His conversation was generally about 
the trial, and he used gradually to bring it round to Pas- 
cal. Often he would launch forth in excessive praise of 
the young barrister as if he wished to provoke a retort 
and would have been only too happy to be contradicted. 
At such times Antoinette would look at him with a 
strange expression in her eyes, and simply let the conver- 
sation drop. 

On this particular day, when Mademoiselle de Claire- 
font saw Pascal coming, she turned to the baron, and said 
abruptly : 

See, here is your friend.” 

Croix-Mesnil turned a little pale, but he answered very 
quietly ; 

I do not deny that he is my friend. I like everyone 
who is devoted to you.” 

Antoinette raised her head, glanced searchingly at the 
young man, and replied : 

If you meant what you said, you would be either the 
least in love or the most generous of men.” Then she 
passed before him to go and meet her brother’s defender, 
and so did not see the cloud of sadness which darkened 
Croix-Mesnil’s face. 

During dinner and all through the evening, Pascal was 
unusually gay. He, who was generally so grave and re- 
served, allowed his wit full play and held them all und’er 
the charm of his conversation. He revealed a new Pas- 
cal they had never known before, but whom they liked 
infinitely. Aunt Isabelle sat drinking in the words of 
her favorite, and between him and Eobert she was simply 
beaming. 

Is he not charming? I assure you he has completely 
^ exorcised ’ me,” she could not help saying to the mar- 
quis in an outburst of enthusiasm. 

At half-past ten Pascal rose to take his leave, in spite 
of Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice’s protests, and asked 
Eobert to walk with him. 

Only, without any lantern, if you please. If we miss 
our footing, so much the worse 3 we must pick ourselves 
up again, that’s all.” 

The two friends went off through the park. Soon they 
reached the little door, opened it and stepped out on to 
the road. A dark form emerged from the shadow of the 
wall, and a voice asked ; 

Is that you. Monsieur Carvajan ? ” 

“ Yes, it is I, Monsieur le Procureur de la Eepublique, 
and Monsieur de Clairefont is with me.” 


ANTOINETTE. 


243 


But what does this mean ? asked Eobert, with sud-^ 
den distrust. 

It means the complete vindication of your character, 
sir/^ replied the Procureur. “And allow me to assure 
you of the pleasure it will give me to proclaim it.'^ 

“Ajid now do not let us talk any more/^ said Pascal. 
And leading the way he went silently up the path by the 
Great Marl-Pit. 

For two hours, Jousselin had been watching behind a 
little willow in the cemetery. He had posted one of his 
men at an angle of the wall whence he could survey the 
Couvrechamps road, and two others were hiding in the 
church. Woods and fields were wrapt in silence. The 
moon,which was now full, cast blue reflections on the slated 
roof and spire of the little church; and it was so light 
that the inscriptions on the tombs could be easily de- 
ciphered. Jousselin was chilled to the marrow — for there 
was a white frost — yet he did not dare move a limb, and 
waited in patient stillness. Still he began to feel a little 
anxious — suppose the shepherd did not come ? Eobert 
had always had the sympathy of the good-hearted com- 
missary since the day of the confronting with the body; 
and he would have been delighted to see the last doubts, 
which some were still obstinate enough to entertain about 
the counPs innocence, dispelled. 

It was two o’clock in the morning when he heard the 
low whistle which was the signal he had agreed upon 
with his men to be given at the approach of anyone. 
Soon the ringing sound of footsteps was heard upon the 
hard road; the ivy with which the wall was covered 
rustled as if some heavy body were brushing against it; 
and Eoussot appeared with the moon shining full upon 
him. His eyes were open, but they were visionless. 

He slipped over the wall into the cemetery, stalked 
stiffly along the path between the tombs, and going straight, 
to the stone which covered poor Eose^ he began to call 
her in smothered tones. Pascal, Eobert and the Pro- 
cureur entered through the church-yard gate, purposely 
left ajar. They had followed the idiot across the valley, 
and now they stood silent and frozen with -horror as they 
watched the lugubrious termination of this nocturnal ex- 
pedition. Crouched on the tombstone which he was 
eagerly kissing, Eoussot continued his supplication, while 
the tears streamed from his eyes, which were strangely 
dilated. “ Forgive me, Eose ! Oh, forgive me ! he mut- 
tered over and over again. And seizing the wooden cross 
with a convulsive grasp, he shook it till it fell on the grass. 


244 


ANTOINETTE. 


The watchers had approached and surrounded the 
shepherd, but he did not notice them ; and, absorbed in 
his passionate fury, he continued to cry and rave. At a 
sign from the Procureur, Jousselin tapped the idiot on 
the shoulder. Eoussot felt the touch, looked up ; then 
rose to his knees. He passed pis hands over his face, as 
if he were awakening, threw one terrified glance around 
him^ then his eyes grew bigger, his features worked and 
twitched, a yell issued from his lips ; and, darting past 
Jousselin, he bounded towards the wall. But there he saw 
a man seated astride the coping; then he ran all around 
the cemetery, found the gate guarded ; and, after stamp- 
ing wildly for a moment like a hunted beast, noticed that 
the church door stood a little open, and rushed towards it. 

‘‘Lookout! Look out cried Jousselin to his men. 

HeTl get away from us ! 

There came the sounds of a struggle and some low, sul- 
len growls; then one of the men ran out of the church, 
crying: 

“ He is climbing into the steeple ! ” 

By the light of the moon, the idiot could be seen at one 
of the openings of the spire. Then the steps of the de- 
tective following him echoed through the church. Eous- 
sot climbed the ladder leading to the beams whiph 
supported the bell, standing like a horrible, fantastic ap- 
parition, with grinning face, hair on end, and face livid 
with fear. 

His pursuer appeared beneath him, mounting higher 
and higher. The shepherd glanced at the summit of the 
steeple, and with the agility and strength of a gorilla 
commenced crawling along the girders. For a moment 
he stood upright on a narrow ledge ; then, apparently 
seized with giddiness, he swayed to and fro as though 
fascinated by the sense of nothingness around him, gave 
a ghastly shriek of laughter, and, losing his footing, fell 
into space. 

Eobert, Pascal and the Procureur had but the time to 
leap backwards as EoussoPs body, turning over and over 
in its fall, described a large curve, and fell with a thud on 
Eose^s grave, bespattering with its blood the stone yet 
wet with the shepherd^s tears. 


ANTOINETTE. 


245 


^ CHAPTEE XIL 

Three days later, in the drawing-room of the chateau, 
where the whole family was assembled, Maitre Malezeau 
gave an account of the various transactions committed to 
his care. The marquis' debt was liquidated, and an act 
of partnership between Pascal and Monsieur de Claire- 
font insured the proper working of the Great Marl-Pit. 
Carvajan's son, as the dormant partner, was to place a 
manager of his choosing at the head of the works and 
find the money to pay all preliminary expenses In the 
future, the profits were to be equally divided between 
himself and the marquis, the one having given his money, 
the other his property. Eobert, seized with a commend- 
able zeal for work, had asked to be given something to 
do, and Pascal had appointed him to a post which would 
allow him to live in the open air, and yet turn his huge 
bodily strength and activity to some u-se. 

Chassevent, summoned to Malezeau's office, after be- 
moaning the fate which had deprived him of his dear, 
good, little girl, had consented to leave the neighborhood 
on condition that he received two thousand francs. As 
the old vagabond complained of the smallness of the sum, 
the lawyer had said to him roughly, looking him straight 
in the face the while : 

A gift of two thousand francs from the marquis, and 
a shot fired at Monsieur Pascal makes things square. If 
you are not satisfied, your claim shall be settled by the 
Procureur of the Eepublic." And the rogue made no 
more to-do ; but set off for Louviers, where he had some 
relations. 

After giving all these explanations, Malezeau asked the 
marquis if he would sign a few papers. 

You will forgive me, marquis," he added, ^‘for being 
^n such a hurry to get all these formalities settled, but Mon- 
sieur Pascal leaves to-morrow, and so — " 

“ lie is going away ?" burst out Mademoiselle de Saint- 
Mauriee. And where is he going ? " 

^^I do not know, mademoiselle," replied the attorney, 
furiously blinking his eyes. But I do not think Mon- 
sieur Pascal intends to leave the country." 

Oh, indeed ? That's something to be thankful for at 
any rate ! " exclaimed Aunt Isabelle, violently. ‘‘ It would 
have been the finishing touch if he had gone back to 
America, to countries where it’s as easy to catch yellow 
fever as it is a cold here ! But why is he going away? 


*246 


ANTOINETTE. 


Why has he such a mania for travelling ? ” 

“ Good gracious, mademoiselle,^' retorted Mal^zeau, 
“what attraction do you think there is for him here ? He 
has broken all ties of affection with his father ; he has 
made implacable enemies of all those who coveted part of 
this estate — life here would be simply unbearable. And 
however grieved I may be to see him go — for Madame 
Malezeau and I have grown to look upon him as belonging 
to ourselves, and we shall miss him terribly — yet I cannot 
dissuade him from a determination which I think both 
brave and wise." 

“ Why brave ? Why wise ? " asked the old maid, with a 
menacing expression. 

The lawyer coldly drew himself up, and replied ; 

“ There are other motives for Monsieur Pascal's depart- 
ure, which I am not at liberty to disclose." 

A profound silence followed these words. Ho one 
cared to continue the conversation. Eobert and Croix- 
Mesnil were both thinking of the hidden motives Pascal 
could have for going away — the former with the muddled 
surprise of a man who has never paused to notice what is 
going on around him, the second, with the melancholy pity 
of a lover who, hopeless himself, knows his rival's suffer- 
ing is as great as his own. 

Antoinette, who was seated in the window in the pale 
rays of the Hovember sun, had let her embroidery fall on 
her knees; and with idle hands and eyes half closed, 
seemed to doze. But she was hot slumbering. She was 
thinking of one of the stained windows in the Clairefont 
church — the one on which Jacob was depicted, wrestling 
with the angel. She could distinctly see the painting of 
the Biblical shepherd, with the bronzed skin, the high 
forehead, the brown beard and blue eyes which formed so 
strong a resemblance to Pascal. This was the man, de- 
termined and intensely loving, who had been content to 
serve fourteen years to obtain Eachael. He had not al- 
lowed his task to dishearten him ; and in the end he had 
overruled all resistance, and gained the woman he de- 
sired. Had not Carvajan's son disj)layed a similar cour- 
age, inspired by a similar love ? 

Antoinette thought of how he had spoken to her the 
first time in the lane. How careless and easy he was 
then I He was returning from foreign lands to his father's 
roof. He was finding an exquisite delight in seeing once 
again the fields and woods where he had passed his child- 
hood- And suddenly he had found himself drawn into 
the fight, and the first name he heard was that of his 


ANTOINETTE. 


247 


father^s enemy. Even now she could hear herself say- 
ing, I am Mademoiselle de Clairefont.^^^ How proudly 
he had replied : And I am Pascal Carvajan ! ” Hid they 
not seem like two enemies unfurling their flags, and en- 
tering the lists against each other ? But no, they were 
not destined to engage in combat. The first glance had 
put an end to all idea of strife between them, and made 
him her zealous defender. After that day she had felt 
his presence ever near her ; she knew that he was watch- 
ing her joys and grief; and that, although he had no 
hope, yet he was attaching himself to her by the mysteri- 
ous ties of a constant communion of spirits. Then came 
the scene at the ball, with her brother’s provocations; 
Pascal’s quivering anger ; and her own intervention and 
apology, when, with a word, she could have made the man 
before whom she was humbling herself, fall at her feet; 
and lastly, after a fresh addition had been made to the 
burden of her grief, her visit to Carvajan’s gloomy house. 
How tenderly and resolutely he had said to her : You 

shall not be wounded either in your affections or your 
fortune. That I promise you upon my honor.” And in 
the gladness of her heart she had replied, ‘‘You will al- 
ways have my deepest gratitude.” He had kept' his 
promise. At the cost of the most heroic sacrifices, he had 
cleared Robert’s reputation and saved the estate. And 
what had she done to prove her gratitude? A few tears 
shed, a pressure of the hand, had been all the reward she 
had given him. 

An outburst from Aunt Isabelle aroused Mademoiselle 
de Clairefont from her reverie. Robert and Croix-Mesnil 
had taken Mal6zeau out on the terrace; and the old maid 
was talking to her brother-in-law. 

“Well, my dear,” she cried, fiercely, “if I were thirty 
years younger, you may take my word for it, I’d have 
managed to make him stop !” 

“ Come, come, auntie,” said the marquis, “you are too 
impetuous.” 

“ Then I serve to counterbalance those who are too 
phlegmatic.” 

“ I knew the time when you were more exclusive in 
your ideas, and when you would not admit that a man 
worthy the name could exist outside the aristocracy.” 

“But just look how your aristocracy has behaved to 
us. Until that dear Pascal declared himself on our side, 
our neighbors He Saint-Croix and d’Edennemare would 
have nothing to do with us. Before this plebeian stood 
up in our defence, ail cur noble friends turned their backs 


248 


ANTOINETTE. 


on ns, while he has been most chivalrous. He ’s 
highly born, I know; hut he is of the stuff of wl;ivl. . 
old kings used to make great generals, great miiiisiv. 
and finally dukes and peers.^^ 

^‘My dear sister, I won’t attempt to contradict you. i 
thought I was the only liberal in the family, but ncv. ,. 
judging from appearances, there seems to be two of us. 
Only don’t speak so loudly. It makes my head aclic 
— it is not very strong yet — and you will wake Anl<d- 
nette.” 

Is she asleep? Can it be possible, when she ought to 
be in a state of agitation, at least as violent as mine ? And 
it is I who have reared that girl ! She was more excited 
the day of the trial, I can tell you. But once the danger 
past, the rescuer may go to the devil !” 

Sister ! ” 

Well, I always say what I think. I am not one to 
change so easily; nothing has ever made me turn back.” 

“ Eeally, I believe you love this young man better than 
you do us.” 

^^And what if I did? Would it not be only just ? Wo 
had done nothing for him, and he has given up everything 
for us. But there, I am very stupid to excite myself so— 
nobody has asked me for my advice, and in future I!ll 
keep my opinions to myself.” 

Here Antoinette moved her head, and her aunt said no 
more. , 

“Are the others out on the terrace ?” said the girl. “I 
am quite stiff — I will go outside for a little walk.” 

She rose and went slowly down the flight of stone steps. 
As she did so, she heard her Aunt Isabelle say to the 
marquis : 

“ You may think what you like ; but it gets over me. 
Just see how cool and sedate she is. Either she is blind, 
not to see that the boy is dying of love for her, or else 
she is made of marble.” 

A quiet smile crept over Mademoiselle de Clairefont’s 
lips; and her face lighted up like a beautiful landscape 
under a sudden flood of sunlight. She joined the group 
outside; and, taking MaUzeau’s arm, gradually brought 
Pascal’s name into the conversation. The lawyer, as if 
he had only awaited a sign to completely unfold his 
friend’s plans, launched forth into details. Pascal in- 
tended to settle in Paris, where he was certain before- 
hand very soon to gain an important position at the Palais, 
and where, through the influence he had with the various 
Law Societies, he had a practice ready made for him. Re 


ANTOINETTE. 


24 ^ 


refused to enter the Chamber for the present, but he 
could certainly represent La Neuville whenever he chose 
to present himself as a candidate. Grood old Malezeau 
even took a mischievous pleasure in insinuating that, in 
the society in which he would mix, Pascal would be very 
likely to make a brilliant marriage. Put this called forth 
no expression either of satisfaction or vexation from An- 
toinnette — she displayed nothing but indifference, and 
her face was as calm as before. She even spoke so tran- 
quilly that to Malezeau her tone sounded cold; and, hav- 
ing tried to find out too much, the lawyer learned nothing, 

Pascal arrived about an hour before dinner. He looked 
pale and dejected, and his efforts to talk and laugh were 
not crowned with much success ; for his melancholy 
would show itself. Aunt Isabelle^s eyes rested pityingly 
on him ; then shot indignant glances at her niece, who, 
perfectly unmoved, laughed and chatted with the utmost 
freedom from constraint. Several times she said to 
Pascal : 

La Heuville is quite near Paris. You will come and 
see us sometimes, will you not?'^ 

She spoke with a light-heartedness which brought the 
tears to the young man’s eyes. Feeling that his emotion 
was becoming uncontrollable, he stepped outside, where 
Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil joined him. Antoinette looked 
after them with some surprise ; and, hastily rising, went 
to one of the windows. 

Pascal and the baron walked slowly along by the 
flower-beds, until Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil pointed to a 
stone bench standing against the wall; and Pascal dropped 
wearily upon it. Soon their conversation became very 
animated, and Antoinette^ seized with a vague uneasiness^ 
turned slightly pale. 

What can they have to say to one another ? ” she- 
thought. 

The window of Eobert’s room was immediately over 
where the two young men were sitting, while it was 
screened from all view by the closed shutters — from it all 
that they were saying could be heard. The blood 
mounted to Antoinette’s cheek at the thought, and her 
eyes gleamed with curiosity. A faint voice within her 
told her that it would be wrong to listen ; but consumed 
with the desire to know, she hurried out of the drawing- 
room, without replying to her brother’s cry of, Where 
are you going?” and turned towards the turret. She 
ran lightly up the staircase, and opened the door of the 
room. The window was partly open, and scarcely daring 


260 


ANTOINETTE. 


to breathe, she bent her ear towards the thin laths of 
wood, and listened eagerly to the voices which rose clear 
and distinct from the terrace. 

Yes, I had indeed dreamed of performing all that you 
have done for her," Croix-Mesnil was saying. But 
though I have wildly envied you, I have never for a mo- 
ment hated you. I felt that your aid was indispensable." 

^^Alas, all is over now!" replied Pascal, sadly. And 
the one of us two that is to be envied is you, since you 
remain here." 

Why are you going away ? " asked Croix-Mesnil, 
gently. 

“I am going because it is beyond my strength to stay," 
answered Pascal, with sudden heat; ‘^because each day 
adds to my love, and doubles my despair; because I know 
of nothing more frightful than to have dreamed of happi- 
ness, and not to have won it; because — but what is the good 
of telling you all this ? You ought to know what I feel, 
since you love her as I do, and since she does not love 
you any more than she does me." 

It is true she does not love me," assented the baron. 

But you — ," he broke off with a deep sigh ; then went 
ori in a different tone ; But you, Pascal, she does lov,e." 

What are you saying ? " 

I am saying what is true, what is right, and what is 
just. Oh, how fortunate you are to have been able to 
dedicate and sacrifice yourself to her I She is a priceless 
treasure, and she is yours. You can take my word for it 
— the word of a man in love with her himself, whose pen- 
etration it is not possible to deceive, who has chosen to 
acquire the certainty of his misfortune, and who has suf- 
fered anguish from the knowledge of it. She loves you 
— she ought to love you ; and she is too noble, too great, 
too generous, not to do so. If she did not love^you, she 
would not be the woman she is. Come, enjoy your good 
fortune, and do not go. She loves you ! " 

Pascal pressed Croix-Mesnirs hand in his own. 

^^It pains me to see your grief," he said, in a tone of 
deep sympathy. 

^‘No, no, you must have no regrets. What is was to 
be; and it would have been a thousand pities for things 
to have been otherwise. For a soul like hers it needed a 
heart like yours. You alone can make her happy, and 
that you will do so is my only hope and the one consola- 
tion I wish to bear away with me. That it is an unselfish 
hope I think I am proving to you, by speaking as I am 
doing." 


ANTOINETTE. 


251 


Pascal sadlj shook his head. 

Between her and me, there is a gulf,"' he said. I 
bear the name of Carvajan — 

You bear the name of the man she loves, returned 
Croix-Mesnil. 

They sat in silence for some time longer, each follow- 
ing his own train of thought; then they rose. 

I have not announced my departure,^' said the baron, 
but I am going away to-morrow, never to return. Let 
us say good-bye. I cannot wish you anything; for you 
have all. But you can wish me forgetfulness.^^ 

Pascal made no reply — he only stretched out his arms. 
Croix-Mesnil threw himself into them; and these two 
rivals embraced each other as if they had been brothers. 

Behind the shutters, Antoinette stood still as a statue. 
Even after the two young men had gone she stayed, as if 
the sound of their voices still rang in her ears. At last 
she turned, looked round the darkened room in whichshe 
stood, and with a start remembered the sad day when she 
had shut herself up there to read the first letter from 
Aunt Isabelle. She could recall all her impressions, her 
hopes, her fears. It was on this table that she had leaned 
her elbows, in utter mental and physical exhaustion — 
there was still the trace of tears on the blotting-book. 
Her horizon was very threatening then ; and now it was 
blue and sunny and clear. All had been saved within a 
few weeks, by the all-powerful will of a loving man. 
There was a vague murmur in the shadow, like the echo 
of past sighs; and with heartfelt gratitude Mademoiselle 
de Clairefont clasped her hands, and said in a low voice: 
Oh, Grod, how can I thank you enough I” 

Then she passed her handkerchief over her face, and 
left the room. When she re-entered the drawing-room. 
Aunt Isabelle^s sharp eyes noticed that Antoinette's eye- 
lids were red as if she had been recently weeping, and 
the old maid felt almost glad ; for she could not under- 
stand her niece's lack of emotion. 

Dinner was a mournful affair that evening in spite of 
Eobert's attempts to keep up the conversation. Every- 
one was occupied with his own grave thoughts, and list- 
ened but absently to what was being said. In the 
drawing-room afterwards, Antoinette seated herself at the 
piano, and for the first time Pascal heard her sing. Her 
voice was a pure, powerful mezzo-soprano. She chose, 
as if by chance, an exquisite air from the ‘‘ Eeine de Saba," 
and a thrill ran through Pascal as he listened to the proud, 
passionate expression with which she sang the refrain : 


262 


ANTOINETTE. 


^^Plus grand dans son obscurite 
Qu\in roi pare du diademe, 

II semblait porter en lui-menae 
Sa noblesse et sa majeste ! ” 

The words were plainly addressed to him — she sur- 
rounded him with them as with a purple mantel, and 
decorated him with them as with a crown. For a minute, 
their souls were in close contact, and it seemed as if some- 
thing was wafted from her to him. Then a mist swam 
before Pascal's eyes; and when he was again able to see 
and hear, she had attacked the celebrated air: ^‘Una 
voce poco fa,'' with a brio which told too plainly her in- 
dilference, and a precision of vocalization which precluded 
the slightest supposition of emotion on her part. 

The waves of despair seemed to close over Pascal's 
head. am a coward to stay here only to have my 
heart still more lacerated every hour," he told himself. 

Monsieur de Croix-Mesnil is mistaken, and I myself am 
losing my reason. Come, a moment's firmness ! I will 
go, and let it all be forever finished ! " He rose hastily, 
and going over to Mademoiselle de Saint-Maurice, said : 

I must beg you to excuse me, mademoiselle. I have 
still many preparations to make, and I fear I must say 
good-bye." 

What, already ? " asked the old maid. But, at least 
wo shall see you again to-morrow ? " 

' I think not," he answered in a voice that shook ; ‘‘ to 
my great regret." 

At what hour do you leave ? " 

“ At two o'clock." 

Then I shall come and say good-bye to you to-mor- 
row morning," cried Eobert. I shall come and lunch 
with you at our friend Monsieur Mal6zeau's." 

Good-bye, marquis. Good-bye, mademoiselle," stam- 
mered Pascal. 

‘‘ You must always remember to look upon Clairefont as 
your home," said the marquis. 

The young man bowed, but made no reply. A tide of . 
bitterness was rising from his heart to his lips. 

“ Good-bye," he repeated. 

Antoinette's hand was stretched out to him, and as he 
pressed it, he felt how soft and warm it was, while his own 
was icy cold. He glanced beseechingly at her he adored, 
and in her eyes he noted a gleam of tenderness and pity. 
The expression on her face seemed to say : 

But why don’t you venture? Fall at my feet, rave, 


ANTOINETTE. 253 

weep, do anything as long as you do something ! Can 
you not guess ? 

But Pascal was only angrily thinking : If she does 

not make the first advance, she has more pride than affec- 
tion, and then I am right in leaving her.'" 

A farewell, which sounded like a sob, again fell from 
his lips. Then he took Maiezeau by the arm and drew 
him out of the. house. He did not regain his self-poss'es- 
sion until the lawyer's gig was half-way down the hill. 
The chateau lights were gradually hidden by the trees, 
and then something seemed to break within his heart; and 
he knew that his love-dream was a thing of the past. 

When they reached Malezeau's house, he wrung his 
friend's hand in silence, and went upstairs to his own 
room. There he gave way to a fit of utter despair. He 
could see nothing before him but an empty, useless exist- 
ence. For whom would he henceforth struggle and work; 
for whose sake would he strive to gain fortune and re- 
nown? Body and soul he was under the sway of his 
consuming, hopeless love, and Antoinette would always 
and incessantly dwell in his heart and thoughts. He 
uttered cries of rage; he poured forth a flood of blasphemy. 
He cursed the day on which he had returned to this 
country where sorrow and misfortune awaited him. He 
uttered prayers and entreaties to Mademoiselle de Claire- 
foiit; then overwhelmed her with the most cruel re- 
proaches. She had been false and ungrateful ; she had 
bewitched him, only to work his ruin; and now he could 
no longer serve her, she threw him aside in disdain. 
Then his mood changed, and he felt ashamed of his vio- 
lence and passion. He asked pardon of his idol ; he ac- 
cused himself of having misjudged her. She had never 
given him any promise; she had never encouraged his 
hopes and his illusions. Was he not only too fortunate 
to have had it in his power to sacrifice himself for her? 
Croix-Mesnil was even jealous of that. he ex- 

claimed amidst the silence. “You owe me nothing. I 
was your servant, your slave— I and all mine belonged to 
you — you have only disposed of your own. And the joy 
it has been to me to cast all at your feet has been my re- 
ward. I love you and bless you, even in the midst of the 
agony of which you are the cause." 

Thus he passed the night in anguish and tumult of 
mind. When dawn came, he was a little calmer ; but with 
daylight his torments returned; for it warned him tliat 
he had only a few hours left in which to breathe the same 
air as Antoinette. With a heavy heart he went down to 


254 


ANTOINETTE. 


Malezeau’s office. The lawyer was out, and Pascal Avrote 
a few letters ) then about ten o^clock he prepared to go 
to the Hue du Marche to say good-bye to his father, as 
he had promised. As he moved across the office, he 
caught sight of himself in a mirror, and the reflection he 
saw aroused a feeling of pity in him. He smiled encour- 
agingly at the poor wretch who was staring at him with 
hollow, grief-stricken eyes. He felt a torpor he could not 
resist stealing over him; and he stood at the window 
which looked on to the garden, and gazed over the roofs 
of the neighboring houses at the Clairefont hill which 
sloped upwards in white, chalky masses, clothed here and 
there with thick, dark clumps of trees. Antoinette was 
now in safety on this domain. He had counterfoiled the 
schemes of hatred, disappointed the hopes of gain. She 
would be free and happy, and it was to him she would 
owe it all. And, at the thought, a feeling of exquisite 
calm stole into his heart. 

“Who knows he told himself. “Perhaps I shall at 
last be able to change my love into a mere friendship, 
and then I can see her again in safety. Oh, to see her 
again — to see her again ! Poltroon that I am, that is my 
only dream, and it is no use trying to deceive myself?' 

He buried his face in his hands and tried to dismiss th^ 
thoughts which were torturing him. For some minutes 
he remained in this attitude, listening to every sound 
outside and trying not to seethe adorable phantom which 
perpetually haunted his memory. He thought he heard 
the front door open ; then came the sound of steps, and 
Mal6zeau's voice was heard in the hall saying; “He is 
in my office." 

Pascal felt madly agitated, and his heart beat wildly. 
Who could it be to see him? The door opened; and as 
on the memorable day when he had entered Carvajan's 
office, the lawyer said : 

“ There is a lady here who would like to speak toyOu." 

With a cry, Pascal rushed forward. Before him stood 
Antoinette, dressed in the same dress and wearing the 
same hat as when she had come to intercede for her 
brother. Her face was as pale too as it had been then; 
but its pallor now was not caused by fear or grief. They 
stood for a moment, gazing at one another; she smiling; 
he trembling. At last she said with a charming grace of 
manner : 

“Once again I am compelled to come to you. Only to- 
day it is not on behalf of my brother alone I want to 
plead with you— it is on behalf of all my famil 3 ^ You 


ANTOINETTE. 


255 


have undertaken to insure our happiness. Well, then, I 
must tell you that your work is still incomplete. Eobert 
is sad, and my aunt perfectly miserable at the thought of 
seeing you no more. What is there that would make you 
stay she went on with a pretty little coquettish ges- 
ture. If you are not too exacting, perhaps we could 
manage to satisfy your demands.'^ 

Then, as he stood bewildered, not daring to understand, 
and afraid to speak. Mademoiselle de Clairefont moved 
a step nearer to him ; and, speaking with infinite tender- 
ness, said : 

One day you sacrificed your present and your future 
to me. You gave me your whole life. Will you accept 
mine in exchange V* 

Pascal uttered a cry; the room seemed to grow dark; 
and ho vaguely stretched out his arms. Then Antoinette's 
silky, perfumed hair touched his lips, a feeling of mad 
exhilaration took possession of him ; and he was trans- 
ported to a seventh heaven of delight. 

Pascal and his wife live in Paris, but every year they 
pass the summer at Clairefont. Malezeau's prophecies 
have come true. The young barrister has met with the 
most brilliant success ; and, yielding to the entreaties of 
his friends, has presented himself as a candidate at the 
elections, at which, secretly aided and supported by his 
father, he has been elected by an overwhelming majority. 
Eobert, now quite steadied down, works in real earnest, 
and there is every probability of a match between him 
and the eldest Mademoiselle de Saint- Andr6. The Great 
Marl-Pit, in the hands of a clever manager, has become a 
perfect mine of wealth; and at it the marquis' consumer is 
used with the best results. Antoinette in her happiness 
has been generous enough to forgive her father-in-law the 
injuries he had done her family, but she never sees him, 
and never mentions him. When the tyrant dies, they 
mean to use his money to build a large home . for old 
men at La' Meuville. But at present the old fellow is in 
very good health, and attends to business as usual. And 
whenever anyone happens to speak of the wonderful 
prosperity of the Great Marl-Pit under Pascal's manage- 
ment, he nods his head, and says : 

Yes, it is all right now; but it wanted a Carvajan to 
set things going." 


THE END. 



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